Existence is illusory and it is eternal.

We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile. And now we realize that we know where it lives... inside ourselves.

Your success and happiness are forgiven you only if you generously consent to share them. But to be happy it is essential not to be too concerned with others. Consequently, there is no escape. Happy and judged, or absolved and wretched.

We continue to shape our personality all our life. If we knew ourselves perfectly, we should die.

We [writers] must know that we can never escape the common misery and that our only justification, if indeed there is a justification, is to speak up, insofar as we can, for those who cannot do so.

There can be no true goodness, nor true love, without the utmost clear-sightedness.

Men are convinced of your arguments, your sincerity, and the seriousness of your efforts only by your death.