Death is just infinity closing in.
I have no way of knowing whether the events that I am about to narrate are effects or causes.
Heaven and hell seem out of proportion to me: the actions of men do not deserve so much.
Writing is only a guided dream.
The heresies we should fear are those which can be confused with orthodoxy.
My undertaking is not difficult, essentially. I should only have to be immortal to carry it out.