Some men are born committed to action: they do not have a choice, they have been thrown on a path, at the end of that path, an act awaits them, their act.

I think [Alain Robbe-Grillet] a good writer, but he speaks to the comfortable bourgeoisie.

Listen to me: a family man is never a real family man. An assassin is never entirely assassin. They play a role, you understand. While a dead man, he is really dead. To be or not to be, right?

[Contemporary writer] could be a kind of [Samuel] Beckett who would not be felt to be totally committed to despair.

What do I care about Jupiter? Justice is a human issue, and I do not need a god to teach it to me.

He was free, free in every way, free to behave like a fool or a machine, free to accept, free to refuse, free to equivocate; to marry, to give up the game, to drag this death weight about with him for years to come. He could do what he liked, no one had the right to advise him, there would be for him no Good or Evil unless he thought them into being.

Words are more treacherous and powerful than we think.