The Fact That Life Has No Meaning

My Enthusiasms...constitute My Reserves, My Unexploited Resources, Perhaps My Future.

The History Of Ideas Is The History Of The Grudges Of Solitary Men.

True Contact Between Beings Is Established Only By Mute Presence, By Apparent Non-communication, By That Mysterious And Wordless Exchange Which Resembles Inward Prayer.

If There Is Anyone Who Owes Everything To Bach, It Is Certainly God.

Life Is Possible Only By The Deficiencies Of Our Imagination And Memory.