Great ideas, it has been said, come into the world as gently as doves. Perhaps then, if we listen attentively, we shall hear amid the uproar of empires and nations, a faint flutter of wings, the gentle stirring of life and hope. Some will say that this hope lies in a nation; others in a man. I believe rather that it is awakened, revived, nourished, by millions of solitary individuals whose and works every day negate frontiers and the crudest implications of history.

Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure.

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

It is easier to kill what we do not know.

Independence is earned by a few words of cheap confidence

I used to advertise my loyalty and I don't believe there is a single person I loved that I didn't eventually betray.

Nature is a burning and frigid, transparent and limited universe in which nothing is possible but everything is given.