My own self-consciousness cries out to me coldly: how does one love zero?

Every human occupation has it repertoire of stock phrases, within which every man twists and turn until his death. His vocabulary, which seems so lavish, reduces itself to a hundred routine formulas at most, which he repeats over and over.

If our Gods and our hopes are nothing but scientific phenomena, then let us admit it must be said that our love is scientific as well.

I am a man who knows nothing, guesses sometimes, finds frequently and who's always amazed.

Thoughts and feelings change sometimes, as one crosses the frontiers.

My own self-consciousness cries out to me coldly: how does one love zero?

There are some wounds that one can heal only by deepening them and making them worse.