Only superficial minds approach an idea with delicacy.

What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?

Paradise was unendurable, otherwise the first man would have adapted to it; this world is no less so, since here we regret paradise or anticipate another one. What to do? Where to go? Do nothing and go nowhere, easy enough.

Philosophy: Impersonal anxiety; refuge among anemic ideas.

An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.

I am the beast with a contorted grin, contracting down to illusion and dilating toward infinity, both growing and dying, delightfully suspended between hope for nothing and despair of everything, brought up among perfumes and poisons, consumed with love and hatred, killed by lights and shadows. My symbol is death of light and the flame of death. Sparks die in me only to be reborn as thunder and lightning. Darkness itself glows in me.

Tragic paradox of freedom: the mediocre men who alone make its exercise possible cannot guarantee its duration.