The last resort of kings, the cannonball. The last resort of the people, the paving stone.
France lost a great novel last night.
I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.
A fixed idea ends in madness or heroism.
Logic ignores the almost, just as the sun ignores the candle.
The most beautiful of altars, he said, is the soul of an unhappy creature consoled and thankfing God.