There is scarcely any passion without struggle.

The more I produce, the less I am certain. On the road along which the artist walks, night falls ever more densely. Finally, he dies blind.

Je puis nier une chose sans me croire obligé de la salir ou de retirer aux autres le droit d'y croire.

The mind's deepest desire, even in its most elaborate operations, parallels man's unconscious feeling in the face of his universe: it is an insistence upon familiarity, an appetite for clarity.

... unhappiness is like marriage. We believe we chose it, but then it is choosing us. That is how it is, we can do nothing about it.

The world is unimportant and whoever recognizes this conquers his liberty.

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