As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be alright. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be nothing, the wind, the sky.

To be a friend of the weak-that is the artist's point of departure as well as his ultimate goal.

Unhappiness. There are all kinds of unhappy people in the world. I suppose it would be no exaggeration to say that the world is composed entirely of unhappy people. But those people can fight their unhappiness with society fairly and squarly, and society for its part easily understands and sympathizes with such struggles. My unhappiness stemmed entirely from my own vices, and I had no way of fighting anybody.

Addiction is perhaps a sickness of the spirit.

A true artist is an ugly man.

I want to spend my time with people who don't look to be respected. But such good people won't want to spend their time with me.

As for love . . . no, having once written that word I can write nothing more.