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.

I was comfortable in all, I admit, but at the same time, nothing satisfied me. Each joy made me seek another.

I realized people would soon forget me once I was dead. I couldn't even say that this was hard to stomach; really, there's no idea to which one doesn't get acclimatized in time.

One of the only coherent philosophical positions is thus revolt. It is a constant confrontation between man and his own obscurity.

The absurd depends as much on man as on the world. For the moment, it is all that links them together.

Where there is no hope, we must invent it.

Wandering seemed no more than the happiness of an anxious man.