Knowledge subverts love: in proportion as we penetrate our secrets, we come to loathe our kind, precisely because they resemble us.

By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing.

It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.

How good would it be if one could die by throwing oneself into an infinite void.

I would like to explode, flow, crumble into dust, and my disintegration would be my masterpiece.

The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility.

Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.

Between Ennui and Ecstasy unwinds our whole experience of time.

Revenge is not always sweet, once it is consummated we feel inferior to our victim.

A book is a suicide postponed.

Nostalgia, more than anything, gives us the shudder of our own imperfection. This is why with Chopin we feel so little like gods.

You are my first and last light, of my day and my night.

God's grace is the power of life.

Truth hides behind the curtain of illusion. We often get lost in illusion and forget to find the truth.

I looked up from my writing, And gave a start to see, As if rapt in my inditing, The moon's full gaze on me.

There was no one to blame but the mighty, ruthless stranger. Thus was complexity reduced to demonology, which is a defining feature of anti-Americanism, anti-Semitism, or, indeed, any "anti-ism.

Behind every man now alive stand thirty ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living.

I will do nothing for 89 minutes, but score in the 90th.

To the sick, while there is life there is hope. [Lat., Aegroto dum anima est, spes est.]

Love without trust? It's not love at all.

I guess my claustrophobia is incurable - feeling, as I tend to, ill at ease in any closed room, and always tempted to find out what is on the other side of the door.