Through the lack of attaching myself to words, my thoughts remain nebulous most of the time. They sketch vague, pleasant shapes and then are swallowed up; I forget them almost immediately.

When my relations with the Communist Party gave me the necessary perspective I decided to write my autobiography. I wanted to show how a man can pass from literature held sacred to action which nevertheless remains that of an intellectual.

One of the chief motives of artistic creation is certainly the need of feeling that we are essential in relationship to the world.

I will not be modest. Humble, as much as you like, but not modest. Modesty is the virtue of the lukewarm.

Because we can imagine, we are free.

The existentialist says at once that man is anguish.

I was a neophyte in another world [in 1954].