Ah! How I hate the crimes of the new generation: they are dry and sterile as darnel.

I am going to outlive myself. Eat, sleep, sleep, eat. Exist slowly, softly, like these trees, like a puddle of water, like the red bench in the streetcar.

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

To keep hope alive one must, in spite of all mistakes, horrors, and crimes, recognize the obvious superiority of the socialist camp.

What is life but an unpleasant interruption to a peaceful nonexistence.

There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.

Life is nothing until it is lived; but it is yours to make sense of, and the of it is nothing other than the sense you choose.