Shame on the man who goes to his grave escorted by the miserable hopes that have kept him alive.
As long as one believes in philosophy, one is healthy; sickness begins when one starts to think.
I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.
I have all the defects of other people yet everything they do seems to me inconceivable.
Skepticism is the elegance of anxiety.
After having struggled madly to solve all problems, after having suffered on the heights of despair, in the supreme hour of revelation, you will find that the only answer, the only reality, is silence.
I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.
Man is a robot with defects.
This very second has vanished forever, lost in the anonymous mass of the irrevocable. It will never return. I suffer from this and I do not. Everything is unique - and insignificant.
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.
It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.
Utopia is a mixture of childish rationalism and secularized angelism.
Sometimes I wish I were a cannibal – less for the pleasure of eating someone than for the pleasure of vomiting him.
We have convictions only if we have studied nothing thoroughly.
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.
No human beings are more dangerous than those who have suffered for a belief
To want fame is to prefer dying scorned than forgotten.
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.
True confessions are written with tears only. But my tears would drown the world, as my inner fire would reduce it to ashes.
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.
I do nothing, granted. But I see the hours pass - which is better than trying to fill them.
Doubt works deep within you like a disease or, even more effectively, like a faith.
To accomplish nothing and die of the strain
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