One must place one's principles in big things. For the small, graciousness will suffice.
Men are never convinced of your reasons, of your sincerity, of the seriousness of your sufferings, except by your death. So long as you are alive, your case is doubtful; you have a right only to their skepticism.
Love cannot accept what it is. Everywhere on earth it cries out against kindness, compassion, intelligence, everything that leads to compromise. Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life.
Nothing in the world is worth turning one's back on what one loves.
I make myself strict rules in order to correct my nature. But it is my nature that I finally obey.
A man wants to earn money in order to be happy, and his whole effort and the best of a life are devoted to the earning of that money. Happiness is forgotten; the means are taken for the end.
We call first truths those we discover after all the others.
Man cannot do without beauty, and this is what our era pretends to want to disregard.
There exists an obvious fact that seems utterly moral: namely, that a man is always prey to his truths. Once he has admitted them, he cannot free himself from them. One has to pay something. A man who has become conscious of the absurd is forever bound to it.
I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.
Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better.
Yes, and when the love of life disappears, no meaning can console us.
We are all special cases.
The most exhausting effort in my life has been to suppress my own nature in order to make it serve my biggest plans.
It is better to burn than to disappear.
In order to exist, man must rebel.
In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.
We always deceive ourselves twice about the people we love - first to their advantage, then to their disadvantage.
The act of love is a confession.
Sometimes, from beyond the skycrapers, the cry of a tugboat finds you in your insomnia, and you remember that this desert of iron and cement is an island.
I know that man is capable of great deeds. But if he isn't capable of great emotion, well, he leaves me cold.
I can negate everything of that part of me that lives on vague nostalgias, except this desire for unity, this longing to solve, this need for clarity and cohesion. I can refute everything in this world surrounding me that offends or enraptures me, except this chaos, this sovereign chance and this divine equivalence which springs from anarchy. I don't know whether this world has meaning that transcends it. But I know that I do not know that meaning and that it is impossible for me just now to know it. What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms.
Art does not tolerate reason.
We are all exceptional cases. We all want to appeal against something! Each of us insists on being innocent at all cost, even if he has to accuse the whole human race and heaven itself.
Your successes and happiness are forgiven you only if you generously consent to share them.
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