Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.
The existentialist says at once that man is anguish.
Neither sex, without some fertilization of the complimentary characters of the other, is capable of the highest reaches of human endeavor.
Like all dreamers, I mistook disenchantment for truth.
If I became a philosopher, if I have so keenly sought this fame for which I’m still waiting, it’s all been to seduce women basically.
Ha! to forget. How childish! I feel you in my bones. Your silence screams in my ears. You may nail your mouth shut, you may cut out your tongue, can you keep yourself from existing? Will you stop your thoughts.
I hate victims who respect their executioners.
We do not know what we want and yet we are responsible for what we are – that is the fact.
Once freedom lights its beacon in man’s heart, the gods are powerless against him.
In love, one and one are one.
When rich people fight wars with one another, poor people are the ones to die.
Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.
As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become.
I confused things with their names: that is belief.
We cannot withdraw our cards from the game. Were we as silent and mute as stones, our very passivity would be an act.
Perhaps it’s inevitable, perhaps one has to choose between being nothing at all and impersonating what one is.
So that is what hell is. I would never have believed it. You remember: the fire and brimstone, the torture. Ah! the farce. There is no need for torture: Hell is other people.
Man is abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no aim but what he sets himself.
God is absence. God is the solitude of man.
It disturbs me no more to find men base, unjust, or selfish than to see apes mischievous, wolves savage, or the vulture ravenous.