It is clear that the world is purely parodic, that each thing seen is the parody of another, or is the same thing in a deceptive form.

Incredible nervous state, trepidation beyond words: to be this much in love is to be sick (and I love to be sick).

The truth is paradoxical to the extent of being exactly contrary to the usual perception.

Nothing is more necessary or stronger in us than rebellion.

Realism gives me the impression of a mistake. Violence alone escapes the feeling of poverty of those realistic experiences. Only death and desire have the force that oppresses, that takes one's breath away. Only the extremism of desire and death enable one to attain the truth.

Life has always taken place in a tumult without apparent cohesion, but it only finds its grandeur and its reality in ecstasy and in ecstatic love.

Not every woman is a prostitute, but prostitution is the natural apotheosis of the feminine attitude.