Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life.
Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.
Introspection is a devouring monster. You have to feed it with much material, much experience, many people, many places, many loves, many creations, and then it ceases feeding on you.
I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live.
We do not see the world as it is. We see the word as we are.
You can either give negativity power over your life or you can choose happiness instead.
I have this weird obsession about buying books and looking at them with a smile, even if I won't read them soon. At least they are mine now.
Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.
I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness.
The Frenchman, by nature, is sensuous and sensitive. He has intelligence, which makes him tired of life sooner than other kinds of men. He is not athletic: he sees the futility of the pursuit of fame; the climate at times depresses him.
I am like a snake who has already bitten. I retreat from a direct battle while knowing the slow effect of the poison.
We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.
I either eat too much or starve myself. Sleep for 14 hours or have insomniac nights. Fall in love very hard or hate passionately. I don't know what grey is. I never did.
The dangerous time when mechanical voices, radios, telephones, take the place of human intimacies, and the concept of being in touch with millions brings a greater and greater poverty in intimacy and human vision.
Tropical nights are hammocks for lovers.
I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason.
I want to hear raucous music, to see faces, to brush against bodies, to drink fiery Benedictine. Beautiful women and handsome men arouse fierce desires in me. I want to dance. I want drugs. I want to know perverse people, to be intimate with them. I never look at naive faces. I want to bite into life, and to be torn by it.
I hate men who are afraid of women's strength.
Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous. I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace. I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.
Eroticism is one of the basic means of self-knowledge, as indispensable as poetry.
I am apparently gentle, unstable, and full of pretenses. I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself. I wrote, lived, loved like Don Quixote, and on the day of my death I will say: ‘Excuse me, it was all a dream,’ and by that time I may have found one who will say: ‘Not at all, it was true, absolutely true.’
A war regarded as inevitable or even probable, and therefore much prepared for, has a very good chance of eventually being fought.
A trite word is an overused word which has lost its identity like an old coat in a second-hand shop. The familiar grows dull and we no longer see, hear, or taste it.
I have so strong a sense of creation, of tomorrow, that I cannot get drunk, knowing I will be less alive, less well, less creative the next day.
The complaints of the child in us will never cease lamenting until it is consoled, answered, understood. Only then will it lie still in us, like our fears. It will die in peace and leave us what the child leaves to the man - the sense of wonder.
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