Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will. All the rest - thought, action - is just a pastime, mental or physical. What counts then, is to come to grips with reality. The rest can go.

The man who cannot live with charity, sharing other men's pain, is punished by feeling his own with intolerable anguish.

The slowness of time, for a man who knows nothing will happen, is brutal.

A corpse is what's left after waking too often.

Reality is a prison, where one vegetates and always will. All the rest - thought, action - is just a pastime, mental or physical. What counts then, is to come to grips with reality. The rest can go.

You've got to understand life, understand it when you're young.

The art of living is the art of knowing how to believe lies. The fearful thing about it is that, not knowing what truth may be, we can still recognize lies.