I am not worthy of my suffering. A great sentence. It suggests not only that suffering is the basis of the self, its sole indubitable ontological proof, but also that it is the one feeling most worthy of respect; the value of all values.

La memoria no guarda películas, guarda fotografías.

Optimism is the opium of the people.

But which was the real me? Let me be perfectly honest: I was a man of many faces. (p.33)

Isn't beer the holy libation of sincerity? The potion that dispels all hypocrisy, any charade of fine manners? The drink that does nothing worse than incite its fans to urinate in all innocence, to gain weight in all frankness?

At the end of true love is death, and only the love that ends in death is love.

Listening to a news broadcast is like smoking a cigarette and crushing the butt in the ashtray.