I have never been able, really, to regret anything in all my life. I have always been far much too absorbed in the present moment or the immediate future to think back.
How hard it is, how bitter it is to become a man!
I spent a long time looking at faces, drinking in smiles. Am I happy or unhappy? It’s not a very important question. I live with such frenzied intensity. Things and people are waiting for me, and doubtless I am waiting for them and desiring them with all my strength and sadness. But, here, I earn the right to be alive by silence and by secrecy. The miracle of not having to talk about oneself.
Murder is terribly exhausting.
All men have a sweetness in their life. That is what helps them go on. It is towards that they turn when they feel too worn out.
The temptation shared by all forms of intelligence: cynicism.
There is the good and the bad, the great and the low, the just and the unjust. I swear to you that all that will never change.
If nothing had any meaning, you would be right. But there is something that still has a meaning.
What’s true of all the evils in the world is true of plague as well. It helps men to rise above themselves.
The urge to revolt is one of the essential dimensions of human nature.
On the ridge where the great artist moves forward, every step is an adventure, an extreme risk. In that risk, however, and only there, lays the freedom of Art.
Truth, like light, blinds. Falsehood, on the contrary, is a beautiful twilight that enhances every object.
History has shown that the less people read, the more books they buy.
Great ideas, it has been said, come into the world as gently as doves. Perhaps then, if we listen attentively, we shall hear amid the uproar of empires and nations, a faint flutter of wings, the gentle stirring of life and hope. Some will say that this hope lies in a nation; others in a man. I believe rather that it is awakened, revived, nourished, by millions of solitary individuals whose and works every day negate frontiers and the crudest implications of history.
I am too far away from what I love and my distance is without remedy.
Some are created to love, while the others - to live.
Ironic philosophies produce passionate works.
Where there is no hope, it is incumbent on us to invent it.
In order to speak about all and to all, one has to speak of what all know and of the reality common to us all. The sea, rains, necessity, desire, the struggle against death... these are things that unite us all.
Beauty, no doubt, does not make revolutions. But a day will come when revolutions will have need of beauty.
The look of success, when it is worn a certain way, would infuriate a jackass.
There is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving. All of us, today, are dying of this misfortune. For violence and hatred dry up the heart itself; the long fight for justice exhausts the love that nevertheless gave birth to it.
A taste for truth at any cost is a passion which spares nothing.
Purely historical thought is therefore nihilistic: it wholeheartedly accepts the evil of history and in this way is opposed to rebellion.
A work of art is a confession.
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