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.

Knowledge subverts love: in proportion as we penetrate our secrets, we come to loathe our kind, precisely because they resemble us.

The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live - moreover, the only one.

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

What pride to discover that nothing belongs to you - what a revelation.

We have convictions only if we have studied nothing thoroughly.

I have no nationality - the best possible status for an intellectual.