We don't know when our name came into being or how some distant ancestor acquired it. We don't understand our name at all, we don't know its history and yet we bear it with exalted fidelity, we merge with it, we like it, we are ridiculously proud of it as if we had thought it up ourselves in a moment of brilliant inspiration.

In the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

A constant interrogation.

The longing for order is at the same time a longing for death, because life is an incessant disruption of order.

There are metaphysical problems, problems of human existence, that philosophy has never known how to grasp in all their concreteness and that only the novel can seize.

You can understand nothing about art, particularly modern art, if you do not understand that imagination is a value in itself.

Indeed, the only truly serious questions are ones that even a child can formulate. Only the most naive of questions are truly serious.