“The vaporish cocaine loosens the contours of their lives and sets their bodies adrift, and so they are untouchable.”

Creation is not a light-hearted game. The creator commits to a terrible adventure, which is to take up-on himself all of the dangers that his creatures run.

The most reasonable man always manages, when he pulls the trigger, to become a dispenser of justice.

Men endowed with a wild imagination should have, in addition, the great poetic faculty of denying our universe and its values so that they may act upon it with sovereign ease.

The pimp has a grin, never a smile.

There is a close relationship between flowers and convicts. The fragility and delicacy of the former are of the same nature as the brutal insensitivity of the latter.

On him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body.

Poetry is the break (or rather the meeting at the breaking point) between the visible and the invisible.

Violence is a calm that disturbs you.

I’m homosexual. How and why are idle questions. It’s a little like wanting to know why my eyes are green.

I don’t want to disappear.

It’s a true image, born of a false spectacle.

Erotic play discloses a nameless world which is revealed by the nocturnal language of lovers. Such language is not written down. It is whispered into the ear at night in a hoarse voice. At dawn it is forgotten.

To achieve harmony in bad taste is the height of elegance.

I could not take lightly the idea that people made love without me.

Perhaps all music, even the newest, is not so much something discovered as something that re-emerges from where it lay buried in the memory, inaudible as a melody cut in a disc of flesh. A composer lets me hear a song that has always been shut up silent within me.

Added to the moral solitude of the murderer comes the solitude of the artist, which can acknowledge no authority, save that of another artist.

I took my $100,000 and bought a new Corvette, a lot of cocaine, and spent the rest on foolishness.