Jealousy - that jumble of secret worship and ostensible aversion.

Our contortions, visible or secret, we communicate to the planet; already it trembles even as we do, it suffers the contagion of our crises and, as this grand mal spreads, it vomits us forth, cursing us the while.

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.

Intelligence flourishes only in the ages when belief withers.

So long as man is protected by madness - he functions - and flourishes.