No matter which way we go, it is no better than any other. It is all the same whether you achieve something or not, have faith or not, just as it is all the same whether you cry or remain silent.
Humanity adores only those who cause it to perish.
Once you see that everything is unreal, you can't see why you should bother to prove it.
Old age, after all, is merely the punishment for having lived.
As far as I am concerned, I resign from humanity. I no longer want to be, nor can still be, a man. What should I do? Work for a social and political system, make a girl miserable? Hunt for weaknesses in philosophical systems, fight for moral and esthetic ideals? It’s all too little. I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone. But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?
A decadent civilization compromises with its disease, cherishes the virus infecting it, loses its self-respect.
What do you do from morning to night?" "I endure myself.
I'm simply an accident. Why take it all so seriously?
The more one has suffered, the less one demands. To protest is a sign one has traversed no hell.
Only optimists commit suicide, optimists who no longer succeed at being optimists. The others, having no reason to live, why would they have any to die?
My mission is to kill time, and time's to kill me in its turn. How comfortable one is among murderers.
Only those moments count, when the desire to remain by yourself is so powerful that you'd prefer to blow your brains out than exchange a word with someone.
We dread the future only when we are not sure we can kill ourselves when we want to.
What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.
Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.
I don’t understand why we must do things in this world, why we must have friends and aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn’t it be better to retreat to a faraway corner of the world, where all its noise and complications would be heard no more? Then we could renounce culture and ambitions; we would lose everything and gain nothing; for what is there to be gained from this world?
The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live - moreover, the only one.
How important can it be that I suffer and think? My presence in this world will disturb a few tranquil lives and will unsettle the unconscious and pleasant naiveté of others. Although I feel that my tragedy is the greatest in history - greater than the fall of empires - I am nevertheless aware of my total insignificance. I am absolutely persuaded that I am nothing in this universe; yet I feel that mine is the only real existence.
What can be said, lacks reality. Only what fails to make its way into words exists and counts.
Ideas should be neutral. But man animates them with his passions and folly. Impure and turned into beliefs, they take on the appearance of reality. The passage from logic is consummated. Thus are born ideologies, doctrines, and bloody farce.
Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself.
Consciousness is nature's nightmare.
Trees are massacred, houses go up — faces, faces everywhere. Man is spreading. Man is the cancer of the earth.
The sole means of protecting your solitude is to offend everyone, beginning with those you love.
Democracy: a festival of mediocrity.
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