I lost my sleep, and this is the greatest tragedy that can befall someone. It is much worse than sitting in prison.

A golden rule: to leave an incomplete image of oneself.

Nothing is so wearing as the possession or abuse of liberty.

How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.

A book has to dig through the wounds, more, it has cause a new one, a book it has to be dangerous.

There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.

Never to have occasion to take a position, to make up one's mind, or to define oneself - there is no wish I make more often.