I wanted the moments of my life to follow and order themselves like those of a life remembered. You might as well try and catch time by the tail.

Good digestions, the gray monotony of provincial life, and the boredom-ah the soul-destroying boredom-of long days of mild content.

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

Fascism is not defined by the number of its victims, but by the way it kills them.

A madman's ravings are absurd in relation to the situation in which he finds himself, but not in relation to his madness.

What is boredom? It is when there is simultaneously too much and not enough.

Man's existence precedes his essence