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

All that I know about my life, it seems, I have learned in books.

I maintain that inversion is the effect of neither a prenatal choice nor an endocrinal malformation nor even the passive and determined result of complexes. It is an outlet that a child discovers when he is suffocating.

What I regretted in La Nausee was not to have put myself completely into the thing. I remained outside my hero's disease, protected by my neurosis which, through writing, gave me happiness.

A pale reflection of myself wavers in my consciousness...and suddenly the “I” pales, pales, and fades out.

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?

To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June