The mind is the result of the torments the flesh undergoes or inflicts upon itself.

As long as one believes in philosophy, one is healthy; sickness begins when one starts to think.

The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility.

Whenever I happen to be in a city of any size, I marvel that riots do not break out everyday: Massacres, unspeakable carnage, a doomsday chaos. How can so many human beings coexist in a space so confined without hating each other to death?

I cannot contribute anything to this world because I only have one method: agony.

Lucidity's task: to attain a correct despair, an Olympian ferocity.

Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?