To be born to create, to love, to win at games is to be born to live in time of peace. But war teaches us to lose everything and become what we were not. It all becomes a question of style.

I had been right I was still right I was always right. I had lived my life one way and I could just as well lived it another. I had done this and I hadn t done that. I hadn t done this thing and I had done another. And so?

It is necessary to fall in love... if only to provide an alibi for all the random despair you are going to feel anyway.

No doubt our love was still there, but quite simply it was unusable, heavy to carry, inert inside of us, sterile as crime or condemnation. It was no longer anything except a patience with no future and a stubborn wait.

Can one be a saint if God does not exist? That is the only concrete problem I know of today.

There is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.