Believe me there is no such thing as great suffering, great regret, great memory....everything is forgotten, even a great love. That's what's sad about life, and also what's wonderful about it. There is only a way of looking at things, a way that comes to you every once in a while. That's why it's good to have had love in your life after all, to have had an unhappy passion- it gives you an alibi for the vague despairs we all suffer from.

Today we are always as ready to judge as we are to fornicate.

Likewise, every time somebody interjects to speak of my honesty there is someone who quivers inside me.

A man who has become conscious of the absurd is for ever bound to it.

I cling like a miser to the freedom that disappears as soon as there is an excess of things.

For instance, I never complained that my birthday was overlooked; people were even surprised, with a touch of admiration, by my discretion on this subject. But the reason for my disinterestedness was even more discreet: I longed to be forgotten in order to be able to complain to myself... Once my solitude was thoroughly proved, I could surrender to the charms of a virile self-pity.

One leader, one people, signifies one master and millions of slaves.