Do not wait for the last judgment. It takes place every day.
Hostile to the past, impatient of the present, and cheated of the future, we were much like those whom men's justice, or hatred, forces to live behind prison bars.
Creating is living doubly. The groping, anxious quest of a Proust, his meticulous collecting of flowers, of wallpapers, and of anxieties, signifies nothing else.
Actually the contents of these books mattered little. What did matter was what they first felt when they went into the library, where they would see not the walls of black books but multiplying horizons and expanses that, as soon as they crossed the doorstep, would take them away from the cramped life of the neighbourhood.
When we are all guilty, that will be democracy. Not to mention the fact that we must be revenged for having to die alone. Death is solitary while servitude is collective.
Words always take on the color of the deeds or sacrifices they evoke.