Guilt always hurries towards its complement, punishment: only there does its satisfaction lie.
Everyone loathes his own country and countrymen if he is any sort of artist.
The realisation of one's own death is the point at which one becomes adult.
We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.
All culture corrupts, but French culture corrupts absolutely.
A diary is the last place to go if you wish to seek the truth about a person. Nobody dares to make the final confession to themselves on paper: or at least, not about love.