The more you approach infinity, the deeper you penetrate terror

One day, I shall explode like an artillery shell and all my bits will be found on the writing table.

… Her heart remained empty once more, and the procession of days all alike began again. So they were going to follow one another, like this, in line, always identical, innumerable, bringing nothing!

One can be the master of what one does, but never of what one feels.

One mustn't always believe that feeling is everything. In the arts, it is nothing without form.

There is no truth. There is only perception.

The deplorable mania of doubt exhausts me. I doubt about everything, even my doubts.