Ideas should be neutral. But man animates them with his passions and folly. Impure and turned into beliefs, they take on the appearance of reality. The passage from logic is consummated. Thus are born ideologies, doctrines, and bloody farce.

Whenever I happen to be in a city of any size, I marvel that riots do not break out everyday: Massacres, unspeakable carnage, a doomsday chaos. How can so many human beings coexist in a space so confined without hating each other to death?

The true hero fights and dies in the name of his destiny, and not in the name of a belief.

Melancholy redeems this universe, and yet it is melancholy that separates us from it.

The Art of Love: knowing how to combine the temperament of a vampire with the discretion of an anemone.

Our works, whatever they may be, derive from our incapacity to kill or to kill ourselves.

However much I have frequented the mystics, deep down I have always sided with the Devil; unable to equal him in power, I have tried to be worthy of him, at least, in insolence, acrimony, arbitrariness and caprice.