Pursued by our origins... we all are.

I was walking late one night along a tree-lined path; a chestnut fell at my feet. The noise it made as it burst, the resonance it provoked in me, and an upheaval out of all proportion to this insignificant event thrust me into miracle, into the rapture of the definitive, as if there were no more questions-only answers. I was drunk on a thousand unexpected discoveries, none of which I could make use of. ... This is how I nearly reached the Supreme. But instead I went on with my walk.

My mission is to see things as they are. Exactly contrary of a mission.

To exist is a habit I do not despair of acquiring.

What can be said, lacks reality. Only what fails to make its way into words exists and counts.

What a pity that 'nothingness' has been devalued by an abuse of it made by philosophers unworthy of it!

The fanatic is incorruptible: if he kills for an idea, he can just as well get himself killed for one; in either case, tyrant or martyr, he is a monster.