I exist. It is soft, so soft, so slow. And light: it seems as though it suspends in the air. It moves.

Everything is gratuitous, this garden, this city and myself. When you suddenly realize it, it makes you feel sick and everything begins to drift . . . that's nausea.

You are -- your life, and nothing else.

Criticism often takes from the tree caterpillars and blossoms together.

For common minds have an ugly ability to perceive in the deepest and richest saying nothing but their own everyday opinion.

I consider Les Nourritures Terrestres as a frightening book: "Look for God in no other place than everywhere." Go and tell that to a workman, an engineer!

Atheism is a cruel long term business, and I have gone through it to the end.