Nothing in life is worth, turning your back on, if you love it.

He seemed so certain about everything, didn't he? And yet none of his certainties was worth one hair of a woman's head. He wasn't even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man.

One grows out of pity when it's useless.

Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death—and I refuse suicide.

I have always thought it would be easier to redeem a man steeped in vice and crime than a greedy, narrow-minded, pitiless merchant.

Ah, mon cher, for anyone who is alone, without God and without a master, the weight of days is dreadful.

Only it takes time to be happy. A lot of time. Happiness, too, is a long patience.