A human being who wakened in the morning with a queesy stomach, with fifteen hours to kill before next bedtime, had not much use for freedom.
My existence was beginning to cause me serious concern. Was I a mere figment of the imagination?
There is no need for hell fire in hell. Hell is other people.
Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.
Man is condemned to be free.
We do not judge the people we love.
I enjoy feeling fastidious and aloof. I enjoy saying no, always no, and I should be afraid of any attempt to construct a finally habitable world, because I should merely have to say – Yes; and act like other people.
Life is a useless passion.
Little flashes of sun on the surface of a cold, dark sea.
My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I’m going to sleep.
A madman’s ravings are absurd in relation to the situation in which he finds himself, but not in relation to his madness.
Existence is not something which lets itself be thought of form a distance; it must invade you suddenly, master you, weigh heavily on your heart like a great motionless beast – or else there is nothing at all.
A writer must refuse to allow himself to be transformed into an institution.
I wanted pure love: foolishness; to love one another is to hate a common enemy: I will thus espouse your hatred. I wanted Good: nonsense; on this earth and in these times, Good and Bad are inseparable: I accept to be evil in order to become good.
It is too early to love. We will buy the right to do so by shedding blood.
Nothingness haunts Being.
It’s the well-behaved children that make the most formidable revolutionaries. They don’t say a word, they don’t hide under the table, they eat only one piece of chocolate at a time. But later on, they make society pay dearly.
Time is too large, it can’t be filled up. Everything you plunge into it is stretched and disintegrates.
I am alone in this white, garden-rimmed street. Alone and free. But this freedom is rather like death.
You see, I’m fond of teasing, it’s a second nature with me – and I’m used to teasing myself. Plaguing myself, if you prefer; I don’t tease nicely.
To know what life is worth you have to risk it once in a while.