God: a disease we imagine we are cured of because no one dies of it nowadays.
Great persecutors are recruited among martyrs whose heads haven't been cut off.
We are so lonely in life that we must ask ourselves if the loneliness of dying is not a symbol of our human existence.
One doesn't live in a country, one lives in a language.
Never to have occasion to take a position, to make up one's mind, or to define oneself - there is no wish I make more often.
You are done for - a living dead man - not when you stop loving but stop hating. Hatred preserves: in it, in its chemistry, resides the mystery of life.