Quand les riches se font la guerre, ce sont les pauvres qui meurent. - Jean-Paul Sartre

Remember, Orestes: you were part of my herd, you grazed in the fields along with my sheep. Your liberty is nothing but a mange eating away at you, it is nothing but an exile.

Cand aveam 20 de ani mă îmbătam şi pe urmă explicam că sunt un tip în genul lui Descartes. Simţeam că mă umflu de eroism, îmi dădeam frîu liber, îmi plăcea. După care, a doua zi, eram la fel de scîrbit ca şi cînd m-aş fi trezit într-un pat plin de vărsături. Ieri n-aveam nici măcar scuza beţiei. M-am exaltat ca un imbecil. Am nevoie să mă curăţ cu gînduri abstracte, transparente ca apa.

I am afraid of cities. But you mustn’t leave them. If you go too far you come up against the vegetation belt. Vegetation has crawled for miles towards the cities. It is waiting. Once the city is dead, the vegetation will cover it, will climb over the stones, grip them, search them, make them burst with its long black pincers; it will blind the holes and let its green paws hang over everything. You must stay in the cities as long as they are alive, you must never penetrate alone this great mass of hair waiting at the gates; you must let it undulate and crack all by itself.