I seem to myself, among civilized men, an intruder, a troglodyte enamored of decrepitude, plunged into subversive prayers.

Torment, for some men, is a need, an appetite, and an accomplishment.

A great step forward was made the day men understood that in order to torment one another more efficiently they would have to gather together, to organize themselves into a society.

If our fellow men could be aware of our opinions about them, love, friendship, and devotion would be forever erased from the dictionaries; and if we had the courage to confront the doubts we timidly conceive about ourselves, none of us would utter an 'I' without shame.

Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.

We die in proportion to the words we fling around us.