As subjects, we all live in suspense, from day to day, from hour to hour; in other words, we are the hero of our own story. We cannot believe that it is finished, that we are 'finished,' even though we may say so; we expect another chapter, another installment, tomorrow or next week.

The only form of action open to a child is to break something or strike someone, its mother or another child; it cannot cause things to happen in the world.

For self-realization, a rebel demands a strong authority, a worthy opponent, God to his Lucifer.

Labor is work that leaves no trace behind it when it is finished, or if it does, as in the case of the tilled field, this product of human activity requires still more labor, incessant, tireless labor, to maintain its identity as a 'work' of man.

What's the use of falling in love if you both remain inertly as you were?

A novelist is an elephant, but an elephant who must pretend to forget.

It has to be acknowledged that in capitalist society, with its herds of hippies, originality has become a sort of fringe benefit, a mere convention, accepted obsolescence, the Beatnik model being turned in for the Hippie model, as though strangely obedient to capitalist laws of marketing.