I cannot become modest; too many things burn in me; the old solutions are falling apart; nothing has been done yet with the new ones. So I begin, everywhere at once, as if I had a century ahead of me.

Death is a scandal. The machine is functioning, we are all hostages

There can be no Creator, simply because his grief at the fate of his creation would be inconceivable and unendurable.

Almost Kien was tempted to believe in happiness, that contemptible life-goal of illiterates. If it came of itself, without being hunted for, if you did not hold it fast by force and treated it with a certain condescension, it was permissible to endure its presence for a few days

Learning is the art of ignoring.

In five minutes the earth would be a desert, and you cling to books.

His head is made of stars, but not yet arranged into constellations.