Every great thinker is someone else's moron.

I write stories about conspiracies and paranoid characters while I am, in fact, a very skeptical person.

The lunatic is all idée fixe, and whatever he comes across confirms his lunacy. You can tell him by the liberties he takes with common sense, by his flashes of inspiration, and by the fact that sooner or later he brings up the Templars.

The cultivated person's first duty is to be always prepared to rewrite the encyclopedia.

There is a constant in the average American imagination and taste, for which the past must be preserved and celebrated in full-scale authentic copy; a philosophy of immortality as duplication. It dominates the relation with the self, with the past, not infrequently with the present, always with History and, even, with the European tradition.

I believe all sin, love, glory are this: when you slide down the knotted sheets, escaping from Gestapo headquarters, and she hugs you, there, suspended, and she whispers that she's always dreamed of you. The rest is just sex, copulation, the perpetuation of the vile species.

And what would we be, we sinful creatures, without fear, perhaps the most foresighted, the most loving of the divine gifts?