Give up the tyranny of female charm.
Revolt and revolution both wind up at the same crossroads: the police, or folly.
Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.
... it is true that I do not respect [human life] more than I respect my own life. And if it is easy for me to kill, that is because it is difficult for me to die.
This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. Forever I shall be a stranger to myself.
It is not humiliating to be unhappy. Physical suffering is sometimes humiliating, but the suffering of being cannot be, it is life.
From the evening breeze to this hand on my shoulder, everything has its truth.
Does the end justify the means? That is possible. But what will justify the end? To that question, which historical thought leaves pending, rebellion replies: the means.
Madness such as this, its like trying to stop a fire with the moisture from a kiss
A person I knew used to divide human beings into three categories: those who prefer to have nothing to hide rather than being obliged to lie, those who prefer lying to having nothing to hide, and finally those who like both lying and the hidden.
A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.
[Love] is the type of disease that spares neither the intelligent nor the idiotic.
I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world.
Sometimes at night I would sleep open-eyed underneath a sky dripping with stars. I was alive then.
Thinking is learning all over again how to see, directing one's consciousness, making of every image a privileged place.
There was a time when I didn’t at any minute have the slightest idea how I could reach the next one. Yes, one can wage war in this world, ape love, torture one’s fellow man, or merely say evil of one’s neighbour while knitting. But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman.
The laws of nature may be operative up to a certain limit, beyond which they turn against themselves to give birth to the absurd.
Healthy people have a natural skill of avoiding feverish eyes.
Art and revolt will die only with the last man.
A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.
Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it.
... unhappiness is like marriage. We believe we chose it, but then it is choosing us. That is how it is, we can do nothing about it.
Retaliation is related to nature and instinct, not to law. Law, by definition, cannot obey the same rules as nature.
We spend our days in deliberating, and we end them without coming to any resolve.
Myths are made for the imagination to breath life into them.
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