Death didn't bother me much. Strong Christian and all that. Method of death did. Being eaten alive. One of my top three ways not to go out.

The great incestuous wish is to flow on, one with time, to merge the great image of the beyond with the here and now. A fatuous, suicidal wish that is constipated by words and paralyzed by thought.

To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.

I am going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.

Written By Jean-Paul Sartre

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