Art flies around truth, but with the definite intention of not getting burnt. Its capacity lies in finding in the dark void a place where the beam of light can be intensely caught, without this having been perceptible before.

There was once a community of scoundrels, that is to say, they were not scoundrels, but ordinary people.

Sometimes I think I can expiate all my past and future sins through the aching of my bones.

What do I have in common with Jews? I don't even have anything in common with myself.

I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more

The Bible is a sanctum; the world, sputum.

Anyone who believes cannot experience miracles. By day one does not see any stars. Anyone who does miracles says: I cannot let goof the earth.