I am aware that no man is a villain in his own eyes.

All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story, to vomit the anguish up.

You have to go the way your blood beats. If you don't live the only life you have, you won't live some other life, you won't live any life at all.

One day, to everyone’s astonishment, someone drops a match in the powder keg and everything blows up.

The determination to outwit one's situation means that one has no models, only object lessons.

When human rights are abused on a grand scale, the broth of purity boils and feeds the rebellion of a new order.

Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give.