I Do Not Believe In

The Boarding-school Experience In Paris Was Very Hard, I Didn't Put Up With It Very Well. I Was Sick All The Time, Or In Any Case Frail, On The Edge Of A Nervous Breakdown.

I Say Things That Contradict Each Other, That Are In Real Tension With Each Other, That Compose Me, That Make Me Live, And That Will Make Me Die.

Actually, When I Write, There Is A Feeling Of Necessity, Of Something That Is Stronger Than Myself That Demands That I Must Write As I Write.

In Algeria, I Had Begun To Get Into Literature And Philosophy. I Dreamed Of Writing-and Already Models Were Instructing The Dream, A Certain Language Governed It.

Who Ever Said That One Was Born Just Once?