What does the future, that half of time, matter to the man who is infatuated with eternity?
God: a disease we imagine we are cured of because no one dies of it nowadays.
Our place is somewhere between being and nonbeing - between two fictions.
Man must vanquish himself, must do himself violence, in order to perform the slightest action untainted by evil.
A sensation must have fallen very low to deign to turn into an idea.
Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.