Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.

Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.

I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.