One of the chief motives of artistic creation is certainly the need of feeling that we are essential in relationship to the world.

He is always becoming, and if it were not for the contingency of death, he would never end.

I don't know. Everything. Living. Smoking.

If you die, I will lie down beside you and I will stay there until the end, without eating or drinking, you will rot in my arms and I will love you as carcass: for you love nothing if you do not love everything.

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

I am going to outlive myself. Eat, sleep, sleep, eat. Exist slowly, softly, like these trees, like a puddle of water, like the red bench in the streetcar.

As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become.