Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.

Trees are massacred, houses go up — faces, faces everywhere. Man is spreading. Man is the cancer of the earth.

What do you do from morning to night?" "I endure myself.

Reality is a creation of our excesses.

Everything turns on pain; the rest is accessory, even nonexistent, for we remember only what hurts. Painful sensations being the only real ones, it is virtually useless to experience others.

Criticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselves.

The desire to die was my one and only concern; to it I have sacrificed everything, even death.