Our element is unending immaturity.

Foolishness is a twin sister of wisdom.

To contradict, even in little matters, is the supreme necessity of art today.

We say 'forest' but this word is made of the unknown, the unfamiliar, the unencompassed. The earth. Clods of dirt. Pebbles. On a clear day you rest among ordinary, everyday things that have been familiar to you since childhood, grass, bushes, a dog (or a cat), a chair, but that changes when you realize that every object is an enormous army, an inexhaustible swarm.

Against the background of general freakishness the case of my particular freakishness was lost.

I became bold because I had absolutely nothing to lose: neither honors, nor earnings, nor friends. I had to find myself anew and rely only on myself, because I could rely on no one else. My form is my solitude.

The difference between western and eastern intellectuals is that the former have not been kicked in the ass enough.