Who can exhaust a man? Who knows a man's resources?

The consciousness that says 'I am' is not the consciousness that thinks.

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.

A writer must refuse to allow himself to be transformed into an institution, even if it takes place in the most honorable form.

What the painter adds to the canvas are the days of his life. The adventure of living, hurtling toward death.

Is there really nothing, nothing left of me?

I do not understand! I understand nothing! I cannot understand nor do I want to understand! I want to believe! To Believe!