Who cares about great marks left behind? We have one life... just one. Our life. We have nothing else.
There is always a certain peace in being what one is, in being that completely.
At any given moment, I open my eyes and exist.
Everyone has, inside himself ... what shall I call it? A piece of good news! Everyone is ... a very great, very important character.
If we have anything kind to say, any tender sentiment to express, we feel a sense of shame.
To believe in God is to know that all the rules will be fair, and that there will be wonderful surprises.
All of us are mad. If it weren't for the fact that every one of us is slightly abnormal, there wouldn't be any point in giving each person a separate name.
When I say "I," I mean a thing absolutely unique, not to be confused with any other.
When you put a man and a woman together, there are some things they simply have to do. They embrace, they warm each other. All the rest is dead and empty.
When you want to believe in something, you also have to believe in everything that's necessary for believing in it.
Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.
Each of us is the only person who can give the other what each of us wants to have: Peace.
Killing time is the chief end of our society.
The spontaneity of slaps is sincerity, whereas the ceremonial of caresses is largely convention.
Murderers, in general, are people who are consistent, people who are obsessed with one idea and nothing else.
Nobody is bound by any obligation unless it has first been freely accepted.
I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on.
There is no forgiveness in nature.
A long association-prolonged human contact, when a man and woman live together-this ends up producing a sort of rot, a poison.
This free will business is a bit terrifying anyway. It's almost pleasanter to obey, and make the most of it.
We know well enough when we're being unjust and despicable. but we don't restrain ourselves because we experience a certain pleasure, a primitive sort of satisfaction in moments like that.
Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.
We play make believe, pretend to take ourselves and each other seriously--to love each other, hate each other--but then--it isn't true. It isn't true, we don't care at all!
Justice! Custodian of the world! But since the world errs, justice must be custodian of the world's errors.
It so difficult to know what the people we love really need.
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