What does the future, that half of time, matter to the man who is infatuated with eternity?

What surrounds us we endure better for giving it a name - and moving on.

What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?

When we cannot be delivered from ourselves, we delight in devouring ourselves.

Woes and wonders of Power, that tonic hell, synthesis of poison and panacea.

Word - that invisible dagger.

Write books only if you are going to say in them the things you would never dare confide to anyone.

Sperm is a bandit in its pure state.

Our works, whatever they may be, derive from our incapacity to kill or to kill ourselves.

We interest others by the misfortune we spread around us.

Speech and silence. We feel safer with a madman who talks than with one who cannot open his mouth.

What pride to discover that nothing belongs to you - what a revelation.

To venture upon an undertaking of any kind, even the most insignificant, is to sacrifice to envy.

Philosophy: Impersonal anxiety; refuge among anemic ideas.

Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.