All my good reading, you might say, was done in the toilet.

The purpose of life is to remember.

My hunger and curiosity drive me forward in all directions at once.

The monstrous thing is not that men have created roses out of this dung heap, but that, for some reason or other, they should want roses.

I had no more need of God than He had of me, and if there were one, I often said to myself, I would meet Him calmly and spit in His face.

If we have not found heaven within, it is a certainty we will not find it without.

I read to be taken out of myself, to become ecstatic.