Consider love: is there a nobler outpouring, a rapture less suspect? Its shudders rival music, compete with the tears of solitude and of ecstasy: sublime...but a sublimity inseperable from the urinary tract: transports bordering upon excretion, a heaven of the glands, sudden sancitity of the orifices. It takes no more than a moment of attention for this intoxication, shaken, to cast you back into the ordures of physiology or a moment of fatigue to recognize that so much ardor produces only a variety of mucous.

Our first intuitions are the true ones.

The fear of being deceived is the vulgar version of the quest for Truth.

Torment, for some men, is a need, an appetite, and an accomplishment.

Truths begin by a conflict with the police - and end by calling them in.

Read day and night, devour books - these sleeping pills - not to know but to forget! Through books you can retrace your way back to the origins of spleen, discarding history and its illusions.

An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.