I confess, I do not believe in time.

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

It was an interesting thing to do. Why did I write any of my books, after all? For the sake of the pleasure, for the sake of the difficulty. I have no social purpose, no moral message; I've no general ideas to exploit, I just like composing riddles with elegant solutions.

It's a pity one can't imagine what one can't compare to anything. Genius is an African who dreams up snow.

An active and creative reader is a re-reader.

I adore you, mon petit, and would never allow him to hurt you, no matter how gently or madly.

Art at its greatest is fantastically deceitful and complex.