Excerpted from Guy Debord's film, We Turn in the Night Consumed By Fire:

Although the select population of this momentary capital of disturbances included a certain number of thieves and occasionally a few murderers, our life was principally characterised by a prodigious inactivity; and of all the crimes and offenses denounced there by the authorities, it was this that was sensed as the most threatening.

[…] It was there that we acquired the toughness that has stayed with us all the days of our life, and that has enabled several of us to remain so lightheartedly at war with the whole world. And as for myself in particular, I suspect that the circumstances of that time were the apprenticeship that enabled me to make my way so instinctively through the subsequent chain of events, which included so much violence and so many breaks, and where so many people were treated so badly – passing through all those years as if with a knife in my hand.

Perhaps we might not have been quite so ruthless if we had found some already-initiated project that seemed to merit our support. But there was no such project. The only cause we supported we had to define and launch ourselves. There was nothing above us that we could respect.

[…] The sensation of the passing of time has always been vivid for me, and I have been attracted by it just as others are allured by dizzying heights or by water. In this sense I have loved my era, which has seen the end of all existing security and the dissolution of everything that was socially ordained. These are pleasures that the practice of the greatest art would not have given me.

And I've always liked this, which turns up in the middle of Critique of Separation:

It must be admitted that none of this is very clear. It is a completely typical drunken monologue, with its incomprehensible allusions and tiresome delivery. With its vain phrases that do not await response and its overbearing explanations. And its silences.