U mojim rukama, na primer, ima nečeg novog, izvestan način na koji uzimam lulu ili viljušku. Ili pak sad viljuška ima izvestan način na koji se da uz… - Jean-Paul Sartre

I know very well that I don't want to do anything: to do something is to create existence — and there's quite enough existence as it is.

Men all alone, completely alone with horrible monstrosities, will run through the streets, pass heavily in front of me, their eyes staring, fleeing their ills yet carrying with them, open-mouthed, with their insect-tongue flapping its wings. Then I'll burst out laughing even though my body may be covered with filthy, infected scabs which blossom into flowers of flesh, violets, buttercups.

I scraped my heel against this black claw: I wanted to peel off some of the bark. For no reason at all, out of defiance, to make the bare pink appear absurd on the tanned leather: to play with the absurdity of the world. But, when I drew my heel back, I saw that the bark was still black.