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

What is glory? It is to have a lot of nonsense talked about you.

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

Come, let’s be calm: no one incapable of restraint was ever a writer.

Style is as much under the words as in the words. It is as much the soul as it is the flesh of a work.

Women want you to deceive them: they force you to, and if you resist, they blame you.

I am a man-pen. I feel through the pen, because of the pen.