The more I accuse myself, the more right I have to judge you. Even better, I make you judge yourself, which comforts me the more.

If, after all, men cannot always make history have a meaning, they can always act so that their own lives have one.

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

To two men living the same number of years, the world always provides the same sum of experiences. It is up to us to be conscious of them.

Since the order of the world is shaped by death, mightn't it be better for God if we refuse to believe in Him, and struggle with all our might against death without raising our eyes towards the heaven where He sits in silence?

That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return.3

Thus each of us had to be content to live only for the day, alone under the vast indifference of the sky.