I don't know. Everything. Living. Smoking.

Night is falling: at dusk, you must have good eyesight to be able to tell the Good Lord from the Devil.

Objects should not touch because they are not alive. You use them, put them back in place, you live among them: they are useful, nothing more. But they touch me, it is unbearable. I am afraid of being in contact with them as though they were living beasts.

It is not a matter of indifference whether we like oysters or clams, snails or shrimp, if only we know how to unravel the existential significance of these foods.

The For-itself, in fact, is nothing but the pure nihilation of the In-itself; it is like a hole of being at the heart of Being.

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

Photographs are not ideas. They give us ideas.