We publish only to satisfy out craving for fame; there's no other motive except the even baser one of making money.

You are never truly together with one you love until the person in question is dead and actually inside you.

Everyone, he went on, speaks a language he does not understand, but which now and then is understood by others. That is enough to permit one to exist and at least to be misunderstood.

You've always lived a life of pretense, not a real life-- a simulated existence, not a genuine existence. Everything about you, everything you are, has always been pretense, never genuine, never real.

Only when I am by seawater can I truly breathe, to say nothing of my ability to think.

The thinking man always finds himself in a gigantic orphanage in which people are continually proving to him that he has no parents.

Our greatest pleasure, surely, is in fragments, just as we derive the most pleasure from life if we regard it as a fragment, whereas the whole and the complete and the perfect are basically abhorrent.