My mission is to see things as they are. Exactly contrary of a mission.
By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.
Losing love is so rich a philosophical ordeal that it makes a hairdresser into a rival of Socrates.
We have lost, being born, as much as we shall lose dying: Everything!
Every form of talent involves a certain shameless-ness.
I cannot contribute anything to this world because I only have one method: agony.
Ambition is a drug that makes its addicts potential madmen.
A garbled quotation is equivalent to a betrayal, an insult, a prejudice.
Negation is the mind's first freedom, yet a negative habit is fruitful only so long as we exert ourselves to overcome it, adapt it to our needs; once acquired it can imprison us.
Each concession we make is accompanied by an inner diminution of which we are not immediately conscious.
I was walking late one night along a tree-lined path; a chestnut fell at my feet. The noise it made as it burst, the resonance it provoked in me, and an upheaval out of all proportion to this insignificant event thrust me into miracle, into the rapture of the definitive, as if there were no more questions-only answers. I was drunk on a thousand unexpected discoveries, none of which I could make use of. ... This is how I nearly reached the Supreme. But instead I went on with my walk.
Vague a l'ame - melancholy yearning for the end of the world.
Every thought derives from a thwarted sensation.
To exist is equivalent to an act of faith, a protest against the truth, an interminable prayer. As soon as they consent to live, the unbeliever and the man of faith are fundamentally the same, since both have made the only decision that defines a being.
Skepticism is the sadism of embittered souls.
We die in proportion to the words we fling around us.
A self-respecting man is a man without a country. A fatherland is birdlime.
Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.
Music is the refuge of souls ulcerated by happiness.
We change ideas like neckties.
The literary man? An indiscreet man, who devaluates his miseries, divulges them, tells them like so many beads: immodesty-the sideshow of second thoughts-is his rule; he offers himself.
Man started out on the wrong foot. The misadventure in paradise was the first consequence. The rest had to follow.
Suffering makes you live time in detail, moment after moment. Which is to say that it exists for you: over the others, the ones who don't suffer, time flows, so that they don't live in time, in fact they never have.
We interest others by the misfortune we spread around us.
To Foreswear vengeance is to chain oneself to forgiveness, to flounder in pardon, to be tainted by the hatred smothered within.
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