As for types like my own, obscurely motivated by the conviction that our existence was worthless if we didn't make a turning point of it, we were assigned to the humanities, to poetry, philosophy, painting - the nursery games of humankind, which had to be left behind when the age of science began. The humanities would be called upon to choose a wallpaper for the crypt, as the end drew near.

Boredom is the conviction that you can't change ... the shriek of unused capacities.

Great pressure is brought to bear to make us undervalue ourselves. On the other hand, civilization teaches that each of us is an inestimable prize. There are, then, these two preparations: one for life and the other for death. Therefore we value and are ashamed to value ourselves.

Death is the dark backing a mirror needs if we are to see anything

You have, like the external world, your own phenomena inside.

I have begun in old age to understand...that we seldom if ever realize how generous we are to ourselves, and just how stingy with others.

I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.