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.
To believe in God is to know that all the rules will be fair, and that there will be wonderful surprises.
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.
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 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 I say "I," I mean a thing absolutely unique, not to be confused with any other.
When you want to believe in something, you also have to believe in everything that's necessary for believing in it.
Murderers, in general, are people who are consistent, people who are obsessed with one idea and nothing else.
There is no forgiveness in nature.
Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.
Sisterly love is, of all sentiments, the most abstract. Nature does not grant it any functions.
The first temptation, upon meeting an old friend after many years, is always to - look the other way.
Killing time is the chief end of our society.
Each of us is the only person who can give the other what each of us wants to have: Peace.
A long association-prolonged human contact, when a man and woman live together-this ends up producing a sort of rot, a poison.
A vague uneasiness: the police. It's like when you suddenly understand you have to undress in front of the doctor.
This free will business is a bit terrifying anyway. It's almost pleasanter to obey, and make the most of it.
The spontaneity of slaps is sincerity, whereas the ceremonial of caresses is largely convention.
It so difficult to know what the people we love really need.
Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.
Justice! Custodian of the world! But since the world errs, justice must be custodian of the world's errors.
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!
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