We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking. In that race which daily hastens us towards death, the body maintains its irreparable lead.

I can feel this heart inside me and I conclude it exists. I can touch this world and I also conclude that it exists. All my knowledge ends at this point. The rest is hypothesis.

Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it.

Freedom is not a reward or a decoration that is celebrated with champagne...Oh no! It's a...long distance race, quite solitary and very exhausting.

Once one's up against it, the precise manner of one's death has obviously small importance.

The future is the only kind of property that the masters willingly concede to the slaves.

If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy.