Discussion in class, which means letting twenty young blockheads and two cocky neurotics discuss something that neither their teacher nor they know.

For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist.

Some might think that the creativity, imagination, and flights of fancy that give my life meaning are insanity.

Derivative writers seem versatile because they imitate many others, past and present. Artistic originality has only itself to copy.

Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution.

And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my fist, my fist was in my pocket, she was mine.

The evolution of sense is, in a sense, the evolution of nonsense.