How can I, who was not able to retain my own past, hope to save that of another?

Therefore, in the nature of this will for freedom, which freedom itself implies, I may pass judgement on those who seek to hide from themselves the complete arbitrariness and the complete freedom of their existence.

What the painter adds to the canvas are the days of his life. The adventure of living, hurtling toward death.

Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do.

Ha! to forget. How childish! I feel you in my bones. Your silence screams in my ears. You may nail your mouth shut, you may cut out your tongue, can you keep yourself from existing? Will you stop your thoughts.

Little flashes of sun on the surface of a cold, dark sea.

Better a good journalist than a poor assassin.