I will take it all: tongs, molten lead, prongs, garrotes, all that burns, all that tears, I want to truly suffer. Better one hundred bites, better the whip, vitriol, than this suffering in the head, this ghost of suffering which grazes and caresses and never hurts enough.

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

My pessimism has never been flabby.

I think of death only with tranquility, as an end. I refuse to let death hamper life. Death must enter life only to define it.

Violence is good for those who have nothing to lose.

You must be afraid, my son. That is how one becomes an honest citizen.

You are -- your life, and nothing else.