And real nobility (that of the heart) is based on scorn, courage, and profound indifference.

maybe she had become tired of being the girlfriend of a condemned man. It also occured to me that maybe she was sick, or dead. These things happen. [...] Anyway, after that, remembering Marie meant nothing to me. That seemed perfectly normal to me, since I understood very well that people would forget me when I was dead.

All that remains is a fate whose outcome alone is fatal. Outside of that single fatality of death, everything, joy or happiness, is liberty. A world remains of which man is the sole master. What bound him was the illusion of another world.

To feel absolutely right is the beginning of the end.

It is immoral not to tell.

It's a kind of spiritual snobbery that makes people think they can be happy without money.

In art, rebellion is consummated and perpetuated in the act of real creation, not in criticism or commentary.