I am not recommending "popular" literature which aims at the lowest.

Life is a useless passion.

I had spent my time counterfeiting eternity.

Besides one should not believe that the people only want reading that is easy to absorb.

Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough.

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

Once liberty has exploded in the soul of a man, the gods can do nothing against that man.