Men die and they are not happy.

Over there, in Europe, all was shame and anger. Here it was exile or solitude, among these languid and agitated madmen who danced in order to die.

Without memories, without hope, they lived for the moment only. indeed, the here and now had come to mean everything to them. For there is no denying that the plague had gradually killed off in all of us the faculty not of love only but even of friendship. Naturally enough, since love asks something of the future, and nothing was left us but a series of present moments.

The world I live in is loathsome to me, but I feel one with the men who suffer in it

Every authentic work of art is a gift offered to the future.

Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?

You will always win if you make an effort, no matter how much. However, if you failed it means you were too lazy.