There is such a thing as everyday, ordinary, vulgar ecstasy; the ecstasy of anger, the ecstasy of speed at the wheel, the ecstasy of ear-splitting noise, ecstasy in the soccer stadium.

Physical love is unthinkable without violence.

For a novelist, a given historic situation is an anthropologic laboratory in which he explores his basic question: What is human existence?

Art is the human disposition of sensible or intelligible matter for an esthetic end.

The ludicrous element in our feeling does not make them any less authentic.

Noise has one advantage. It drowns out words.

Man reckons with immortality, and forgets to reckon with death.