There is nothing like literature: I lose a cow, I write about her death, and my writing pays me enough to buy another cow.

As I grow to understand life less and less, I learn to love it more and more.

It astounds us to come upon other egoists, as though we alone had the right to be selfish, and to be filled with eagerness to live.

There are no friends; only moments of friendship.

I find that when I do not think of myself I do not think at all.

Dreaming is to think by moonlight by the light of an inner moon.

The void yields up nothing. You have to be a great poet to make it ring.