What I did not yet know so intensely was the hatred of the white American for the black, a hatred so deep that I wonder if every white man in this country, when he plants a tree, doesn't see Negroes hanging from its branches.

I could not take lightly the idea that people made love without me.

Love makes use of the worst traps. The least noble. The rarest. It exploits coincidence.

Prisons! Prisons! Prisons, dungeons, blessed places where evil is impossible since they are the crossroads of all the malediction in the world. One cannot commit evil in evil.

I give the name violence to a boldness lying idle and enamored of danger.

We know that their adventures are childish. They themselves are fools. They are ready to kill or be killed over a card-game in which an opponent - or they themselves - was cheating. Yet, thanks to such fellows, tragedies are possible.

The main object of a revolution is the liberation of man... not the interpretation and application of some transcendental ideology.