So long as one believes in God, one has the right to do the Good in order to be moral.

Love or hatred calls for self-surrender. He cuts a fine figure, the warm-blooded, prosperous man, solidly entrenched in his well-being, who one fine day surrenders all to love—or to hatred; himself, his house, his land, his memories.

I construct my memories with my present. I am lost, abandoned in the present. I try in vain to rejoin the past: I cannot escape.

To eat is to appropriate by destruction.

I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.

My thought is me: that is why I cannot stop thinking. I exist because I think I cannot keep from thinking.

There is no book of mine that I reject. That does not mean that I find them good.