Be quiet! Anyone can spit in my face, and call me a criminal and a prostitute. But no one has the right to judge my remorse.

For forty years I was conscripted by the absolute, the neurosis. The absolute is gone. There remain countless tasks among which literature is in no way privileged.

Criticism often takes from the tree caterpillars and blossoms together.

We do not judge the people we love.

Life is a useless passion.

In Guinea I could read [Franz] Kafka. I re-discover in him my own discomfort.

Two people can form a community by excluding a third.