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Added to the moral solitude of the murderer comes the solitude of the artist, which can acknowledge no authority, save that of another artist
Jean Genet
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The pimp has a grin, never a smile
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on him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body
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It was the first time I saw the look on the face of the people I robbed: it was ugly. I was the cause of such ugliness, and the only thing that made me feel was a cruel pleasure which, I thought, was bound to transfigure my own face, to make me resplendent. I was then 23 years old. From that moment on, I felt capable of advancing in cruelty
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By dint of saying that I'm not alive, I accept the fact that people cease to regard me

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