So that is what hell is. I would never have believed it. You remember: the fire and brimstone, the torture. Ah! the farce. There is no need for torture: Hell is other people.

I am myself and I am here.

The writer is committed when he plunges to the very depths of himself with the intent to disclose, not his individuality, but his person in the complex society that conditions and supports him.

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

Introspection is always retrospection

Imagination is not an empirical or superadded power of consciousness, it is the whole of consciousness as it realizes its freedom.

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.