For there is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving.

What, then, is that incalculable feeling that deprives the mind of the sleep necessary to life? A world that can be explained even with bad reasons is a familiar world. But, on the other hand, in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land. This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity.

... 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.

To lose the touch of flowers and women's hands is the supreme separation.

Some are created to love, while the others - to live.

Idleness is fatal only to the mediocre.

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