Rebellion Cannot Exist Without A Strange Form

The Soul Of A Murderer Is Blind

We Turn Toward God Only To Obtain The Impossible.

At The Heart Of All Beauty Lies Something Inhuman, And These Hills, The Softness Of The Sky, The Outline Of These Trees At This Very Minute Lose The Illusory Meaning With Which We Had Clothed Them, Henceforth More Remote Than A Lost Paradise . . . That Denseness And That Strangeness Of The World Is Absurd.

The Only Real Progress Lies In Learning To Be Wrong All Alone.

One Cannot Be A Part-time Nihilist.