In two weeks, despite these notes, I shall no longer believe in what I am experiencing now. One must leave behind a trace of this journey which memory forgets. One must, when this is impossible, write or draw without responding to the romantic solicitations of pain, without enjoying suffering like music, tieing a pen to one's foot if need be, helping the doctors who can learn nothing from laziness.

Here I am trying to live, or rather, I am trying to teach the death within me how to live.

It is not I who become addicted, it is my body.

I'm not willing just to be tolerated. That wounds my love of love and of liberty.

The Louvre is a morgue; you go there to identify your friends.

One is either judge or accused. The judge sits, the accused stands. Live on your feet.

A true photographer is as rare as a true poet or a true painter.