The Only Certainty Is Death.

If I Could, I Would Stop The Passage Of Time. But Hour Follows On Hour, Minute On Minute, Each Second Robbing Me Of A Morsel Of Myself For The Nothing Of Tomorrow. I Shall Never Experience This Moment Again.

Whether We Are Describing A King, An Assassin, A Thief, An Honest Man, A Prostitute, A Nun, A Young Girl, Or A Stallholder In A Market, It Is Always Ourselves That We Are Describing.

I Entered Literary Life As A Meteor, And I Shall Leave It Like A Thunderbolt.

A Man Forced To Spend His Life Without Ever Having The Right, Without Ever Finding The Time, To Shut Himself Up All Alone, No Matter Where, To Think, To Reflect, To Work, To Dream? Ah! My Dear Boy, A Key, The Key Of A Door Which One Can Lock This Is Happiness, Mark You, The Only Happiness!

Anguish Of Suspense Made Men Even Desire The Arrival Of Enemies.