We interest others by the misfortune we spread around us.

Pursued by our origins... we all are.

What is that one crucifixion compared to the daily kind any insomniac endures?

That history just unfolds, independently of a specified direction, of a goal, no one is willing to admit.

Psychoanalysis is a technique we practice at our cost; psychoanalysis degrades our risks, our dangers, our depths; it strips us of our impurities, of all that made us curious about ourselves.

If we manage to last in spite of everything, it is because our infirmities are so many and so contradictory that they cancel each other out.

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.