We are not certain, we are never certain.

The loss of love is the loss of all rights, even though one had them all.

... there are two types of happiness and I have chosen that of the murderers. For I am happy. There was a time when I thought I had reached the limit of distress. Beyond that limit, there is a sterile and magnificent happiness.

I felt as though I was partly unlearning what i had never learned and yet knew so well: I mean, how to live.

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.

Slave camps under the flag of freedom, massacres justified by philanthropy or the taste of the superhuman, cripple judgment. On the day when crime puts on the apparel of innocence, through a curious reversal peculiar to our age, it is innocence that is called on to justify itself. The purpose of this essay is to accept and study that strange challenge.

Don't let them tell us stories.