In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, thereโs something stronger โ something better, pushing right back.
Art and revolt will die only with the last man.
There's the risk of being loved...and that would keep me from being happy.
At any street corner the feeling of absurdity can strike any man in the face.
History only exists, in the final analysis, for God.
What is a rebel? A man who says no.