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

What is boredom? It is when there is simultaneously too much and not enough.

You are -- your life, and nothing else.

Once freedom lights its beacon in man's heart, the gods are powerless against him.

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.

There are photographers who push for war because they make stories. They search for a Chinese who has a more Chinese are than the others and they end up finding one. They have him take a typically Chinese pose and surround him with chinoiseries. What have they captured on their film? A Chinese? Definitely not: the idea of the Chinese.

I discovered suddenly that alienation, exploitation of man by man, under-nourishment, relegated to the background metaphysical evil which is a luxury.