What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.

Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.

Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.

There is no means of proving it is preferable to be than not to be.

Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself.

On Creating — What we crave, what we want to see in others eyes, is that servile expression, an unconcealed infatuation with our gestures.

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