The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.

The refutation of suicide: is it not inelegant to abandon a world which has so willingly put itself at the service of our melancholy?

What pride to discover that nothing belongs to you - what a revelation.

The only way of enduring one disaster after the next is to love the very idea of disaster: if we succeed, there are no further surprises, we are superior to whatever occurs, we are invincible victims.

Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?

Sometimes I wish I were a cannibal – less for the pleasure of eating someone than for the pleasure of vomiting him.

I saw that philosophy had no power to make my life more bearable. Thus I lost my belief in philosophy.