A man wants to earn money in order to be happy, and his whole effort and the best of a life are devoted to the earning of that money. Happiness is forgotten; the means are taken for the end.

Instead of killing and dying in order to produce the being that we are not, we have to live and let live in order to create what we are.

Every revolutionary ends up either by becoming an oppressor or a heretic.

If man is reduced to being nothing but a character in history, he has no other choice but to subside into the sound and fury of acompletely irrational history or to endow history with the form of human reason.

Those who love, friends and lovers, know that love is not only a blinding flash, but also a long and painful struggle in the darkness for the realization of definitive recognition and reconciliation.

We don't have the time to completely be ourselves. We only have the room to be happy.

Outside of that single fatality of death, everything, joy or happiness, is liberty.