Of all possible debauches, traveling is the greatest that I know; that's the one they invented when they got tired of all the others.

Put all your rage and madness into your work and live as orderly a life as possible.

I am alone on this road strewn with bones and bordered by ruins! Angels have their brothers, and demons have their infernal companions. Yet I have but the sound of my scythe when it harvests, my whistling arrows, my galloping horse. Always the sound of the same wave eating away at the world

Books aren't made in the way that babies are: they are made like pyramids. There's some long-pondered plan, and then great blocks of stone are placed one on top of the other, and it's back-breaking, sweaty, time consuming work. And all to no purpose! It just stands there in the desert! But it towers over it prodigiously. Jackals piss at the base of it, and bourgeois clamber to the top of it, etc. Continue this comparison.

One must laugh and weep, love, work, enjoy and suffer, in short vibrate as much as possible in all his being.

The heart, like the stomach, wants a varied diet.

But some day sooner or later our passion would have cooled - inevitably - it's the way with everything human.