All my Calvaries were rosy crucifixions, pseudo-tragedies to keep the fires of hell burning brightly for the real sinners who are in danger of being forgotten.

Sin, guilt, neurosis; they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.

I'm delirious because I'm dying so fast.

The best technique is none at all.

Our own physical body possesses a wisdom which we who inhabit the body lack. We give it orders which make no sense.

Surrealism is merely the reflection of the death process. It is one of the manifestations of a life becoming extinct, a virus which quickens the inevitable end.

To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle.