Our first intuitions are the true ones.
When every man has realized that his birth is a defeat, existence, endurable at last, will seem like the day after a surrender, like the relief and the repose of the conquered.
Wisdom disguises our wounds; it teaches us how to bleed in secret.
Only one thing matters: learning to be the loser.
As long as one believes in philosophy, one is healthy; sickness begins when one starts to think.
A distant enemy is always preferable to one at the gate.
There was a time when time did not yet exist.
Anyone who speaks in the name of others is always an impostor.
Paradise was unendurable, otherwise the first man would have adapted to it; this world is no less so, since here we regret paradise or anticipate another one. What to do? Where to go? Do nothing and go nowhere, easy enough.
I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.
Sometimes I wish I were a cannibal – less for the pleasure of eating someone than for the pleasure of vomiting him.
Death makes no sense except to people who have passionately loved life. How can one die without having something to part from? Detachment is a negation of both life and death. Whoever has overcome his fear of death has also triumphed over life. For life is nothing but another word for this fear.
We have convictions only if we have studied nothing thoroughly.
To hope is to contradict the future.
Utopia is a mixture of childish rationalism and secularized angelism.
I have all the defects of other people yet everything they do seems to me inconceivable.
Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.
Man is a robot with defects.
The truly solitary being is not the man who is abandoned by men, but the man who suffers in their midst, who drags his desert through the marketplace and deploys his talents as a smiling leper, a mountebank of the irreparable.
I live only because it is in my power to die when I choose to: without the idea of suicide, I'd have killed myself right away.
A great step forward was made the day men understood that in order to torment one another more efficiently they would have to gather together, to organize themselves into a society
What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?
The Art of Love: knowing how to combine the temperament of a vampire with the discretion of an anemone.
To accomplish nothing and die of the strain
We are born to exist, not to know, to be, not to assert ourselves.
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