That God does not exist, I cannot deny, That my whole being cries out for God I cannot forget.

It would be much better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh. They stretch out and there's no end to them and they leave a funny taste in the mouth. Then there are words, inside the thoughts, unfinished words, a sketchy sentence which constantly returns...It goes, it goes ... and there's no end to it. It's worse than the rest because I feel responsible and have complicity in it. For example, this sort of painful rumination: I exist, I am the one who keeps it up. I.

In Les Mots I explain the origin of my madness, of my neurosis. This analysis may help the young who dream of writing.

It is only in our decisions that we are important.

I had found my religion: nothing seemed more important to me than a book. I saw the library as a temple.

A kiss without a moustache, they said then, is like an egg without salt; I will add to it: and it is like Good without Evil.

If I did not publish this autobiography [Les Mots] sooner and in its most radical form, it is because I considered it exaggerated.