I open the door of the cell and go. I am so bowed I only see my feet, if I open my eyes, and between my legs a little trail of black dust. I say to myself that the earth is extinguished, though I never saw it lit.

But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.

Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightning-conductor of his existence.

What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.

That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.

To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.

If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.