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All words are masks and the lovelier they are, the more they are meant to conceal.
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I saw that I was in danger of becoming ordinary, and I understood that from now on I would have to be vigilant.
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I had thought that words were instruments of precision. Now I know that they devour the world, leaving nothing in its place.
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Do you believe that the actor on the stage is really a villain? Let me ask you something else. If he isn't a villain, then is he a liar?
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I’m pleased by anything in myself that strikes me as not myself.
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Perhaps sound is only an insanity of silence, a mad gibber of empty space grown fearful of listening to itself and hearing nothing.
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The more the mouse pursues this line of of thought, the more it seems to him that the cat is a large, soft mouse.
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I expected no miracles; I wasn't young enough for dreams; I knew in my bones that I couldn't escape my troubles by changing the view from my window.”