An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.
We must learn how to explode! Any disease is healthier than the one provoked by a hoarded rage.
No position is so false as having understood and still remaining alive.
When you have understood that nothing is, that things do not even deserve the status of appearances, you no longer need to be saved, you are saved, and miserable forever.
One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland - and no other.
I have tried to protect myself against men, to react against their madness to discern its source; I have listened and I have seen--and I have been afraid of acting for the same motives or for any motive whatever, of believing in the same ghosts or in any other ghost, of letting myself be engulfed by the same intoxications or by some other... afraid, in short, of raving in common and of expiring in a horde of ecstasies.
Nothing is so wearing as the possession or abuse of liberty.
A book has to dig through the wounds, more, it has cause a new one, a book it has to be dangerous.
A civilization is destroyed only when its gods are destroyed.
The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.
Wherever we go, we come up against the human, a repulsive ubiquity before which we fall into stupor and revolt, a perplexity on fire.
History proves nothing because it contains everything.
We are afraid of the enormity of the possible.
So long as man is protected by madness - he functions - and flourishes.
Our works, whatever they may be, derive from our incapacity to kill or to kill ourselves.
To defy heredity is to defy billions of years, to defy the first cell
To write books is to have a certain relation with original sin. For what is a book if not a loss of innocence, an act of aggression, a repetition of our Fall?
To venture upon an undertaking of any kind, even the most insignificant, is to sacrifice to envy.
The limit of every pain is an even greater pain.
In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.
Melancholy redeems this universe, and yet it is melancholy that separates us from it.
My mission is to see things as they are. Exactly contrary of a mission.
By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.
Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?
Losing love is so rich a philosophical ordeal that it makes a hairdresser into a rival of Socrates.
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