We have in fact only two certainties in this world - that we are not everything and that we will die.

Only literature could reveal the process of breaking the law - without which the law would have no end - independently of the necessity to create order.

I think that knowledge enslaves us, that at the base of all knowledge there is a servility, the acceptation of a way of life wherein each moment has meaning only in relation to another or others that will follow it.

By the care she lavishes on her toilet, by the concern she has for her beauty set off by her adornment, a woman regards herself as an object always trying to attract men's attention.

Indeed, the direction of the future is only there in order to elude us.

A man who finds himself among others is irritated because he does not know why he is not one of the others. In bed next to a girl he loves, he forgets that he does not know why he is himself instead of the body he touches. Without knowing it, he suffers from the mental darkness that keeps him from screaming that he himself is the girl who forgets his presence while shuddering in his arms.

How cruel my suffering is,—no one is more talkative than I am!