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

Man is profoundly dependent on the reflection of himself in another man's soul, be it even the soul of an idiot.

Any artist who respects himself ought to be, and in every sense of the term, an emigre.

I didn't go to the lectures. My valet, who was more distinguished than I, went instead.

Wherever I see some mystique, be it virtue or family, faith or fatherland, there I must commit some indecent act.

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

A brilliant liar; he has total recall.