History, as an entirety, could only exist in the eyes of an observer outside it and outside the world. History only exists, in the final analysis, for God.

We are not certain, we are never certain. If we were we could reach some conclusions, and we could, at last, make others take us seriously.

I am alive again, now that I can no longer stand to live.

Imagination offers people consolation for what they cannot be, and humor for what they actually are.

maybe she had become tired of being the girlfriend of a condemned man. It also occured to me that maybe she was sick, or dead. These things happen. [...] Anyway, after that, remembering Marie meant nothing to me. That seemed perfectly normal to me, since I understood very well that people would forget me when I was dead.

Once in the midst of a seemingly endless winter, I discovered within myself an invincible spring.

The absurd hero's refusal to hope becomes his singular ability to live in the present with passion.