Our first intuitions are the true ones.
Anyone who speaks in the name of others is always an impostor.
To possess a high degree of consciousness, to be always aware of yourself in relation to the world, to live in the permanent tension of knowledge, means to be lost for life.
One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland - and no other.
I never met one interesting mind that was not richly endowed with inadmissible deficiencies.
If each of us were to confess his most secret desire, the one that inspires all his plans, all his actions, he would say: "I want to be praised."
Death makes no sense except to people who have passionately loved life. How can one die without having something to part from? Detachment is a negation of both life and death. Whoever has overcome his fear of death has also triumphed over life. For life is nothing but another word for this fear.
Shame on the man who goes to his grave escorted by the miserable hopes that have kept him alive.
Humanity adores only those who cause it to perish.
Consciousness is nature's nightmare.
Paradise was unendurable, otherwise the first man would have adapted to it; this world is no less so, since here we regret paradise or anticipate another one. What to do? Where to go? Do nothing and go nowhere, easy enough.
Life inspires more dread than death - it is life which is the great unknown.
Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui.
A decadent civilization compromises with its disease, cherishes the virus infecting it, loses its self-respect.
Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.
Try to be free: you will die of hunger.
We dread the future only when we are not sure we can kill ourselves when we want to.
Whenever I happen to be in a city of any size, I marvel that riots do not break out everyday: Massacres, unspeakable carnage, a doomsday chaos. How can so many human beings coexist in a space so confined without hating each other to death?
Wisdom disguises our wounds; it teaches us how to bleed in secret.
Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.
Far from diminishing the appetite for power, suffering exasperates it.
An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.
As long as one believes in philosophy, one is healthy; sickness begins when one starts to think.
I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.
We have convictions only if we have studied nothing thoroughly.
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