The universe appears to me like an immense, inexorable torture-garden…Passions, greed, hatred, and lies; social institutions, justice, love, glory, heroism, and religion: these are its monstrous flowers and its hideous instruments of eternal human suffering.

Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he will always see that word: murder—immortally inscribed upon the pediment of that vast slaughterhouse—humanity.

Desire can attain the darkest human terror and give an actual ideal of hell and its horror.

Murder is born of love, and love attains the greatest intensity in murder.

There is a diabolical streak in me, a troublesome and inexplicable perversity.

Come now, don't make such a funeral face. It isn't dying that's sad; it's living when you're not happy.

‎The greatest danger of a terrorist's bomb is in the explosion of stupidity that it provokes.