The bastard! He doesn't exist!
Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it.
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful.
How can one better magnify the Almighty than by sniggering with him at his little jokes, particularly the poorer ones.
Make sense who may. I switch off.
My characters have nothing. I'm working with impotence, ignorance... that whole zone of being that has always been set aside by artists as something unusable - something by definition incompatible with art.
Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.
We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
I missed you...and at the same time I was happy. Isn't that a queer thing?
For why be discouraged, one of thieves was saved, that is a generous percentage.