The existentialist says at once that man is anguish.

The public, too, has to make an effort in order to understand the writer who, though he renounce complacent obscurity, cannot always express his new-hidden thoughts lucidly and according to accepted models.

If literature isn't everything, it's not worth a single hour of someone's trouble.

A Soviet citizen, an official writer, once said to me: "The day when Communism (that is, well-being for everyone) reigns, man's tragedy will begin: his finitude."

Let it crumble! Let the rocks revile me and flowers wilt at my coming. Your whole universe is not enough to prove me wrong. You are the king of gods, king of stones and stars, king of the waves of the sea. But you are not the king of man.

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.

Uncalled-for aggression arouses the hatred of the civilian population.