We Are All Geniuses When We Dream.

Do I Look Like Someone Who Has Something To Do Here On Earth?' —that's What I'd Like To Answer The Busybodies Who Inquire Into My Activities.

The Fear Of Your Own Solitude, Of Its Vast Surface And Its Infinity… Remorse Is The Voice Of Solitude. And What Does This Whispering Voice Say? Everything In Us That Is Not Human Anymore.

We Dread The Future Only When We Are Not Sure We Can Kill Ourselves When We Want To.

One Hardly Saves A World Without Ruling It.

Old Age, After All, Is Merely The Punishment For Having Lived.