We are made to be immortal, and yet we die. It's horrible, it can't be taken seriously

I still forget, sometimes, that I am no longer 12 years old.

We are all looking for something of extraordinary importance whose nature we have forgotten; I am writing the memoirs of a man who has lost his memory.

To tear ourselves away from the everyday, from habit, from mental laziness which hides from us the strangeness of reality, we must receive something like a real bludgeon blow.

A person who has not completely lost the memory of paradise, even though it is a faint one, will suffer endlessly. He will feel the call of the essential world, will hear the voice that comes from so far away that one cannot find out where it comes from, a voice that cannot guide him.

A nose that can see is worth two that sniff.

To me the world seems grotesque, absurd, ridiculous, painful.