I say a murder is abstract. You pull the trigger and after that you do not understand anything that happens.

Life is a useless passion.

Only the guy who isn't rowing has time to rock the boat.

If you seek authenticity for authenticity's sake you are no longer authentic.

What I see is teeming cohesion, contained dispersal... For him, to sculpt is to take the fat off space.

For common minds have an ugly ability to perceive in the deepest and richest saying nothing but their own everyday opinion.

When you live alone you no longer know what it is to tell a story: the plausible disappears at the same time as the friends. You let events flow by too: you suddenly see people appear who speak and then go away; you plunge into stories of which you can't make head or tail: you'd make a terrible witness.