If we had the courage to confront the doubts we timidly conceive about ourselves, none of us would utter an 'I' without shame.

Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.

There was a time when time did not yet exist.

By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.

We derive our vitality from our store of madness.

To exist is equivalent to an act of faith, a protest against the truth, an interminable prayer. As soon as they consent to live, the unbeliever and the man of faith are fundamentally the same, since both have made the only decision that defines a being.

On Creating — What we crave, what we want to see in others eyes, is that servile expression, an unconcealed infatuation with our gestures.