As far as I am concerned, I resign from humanity. I no longer want to be, nor can still be, a man. What should I do? Work for a social and political system, make a girl miserable? Hunt for weaknesses in philosophical systems, fight for moral and esthetic ideals? It’s all too little. I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone. But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?

"The Holy Ghost," Luther instructs us, "is not a skeptic." Not everyone can be, and that is really too bad.

I try--without success--to stop finding reasons for vanity in anything. When I happen to manage it nonetheless, I feel that I no longer belong to the mortal gang. I am above everything then, above the gods themselves. Perhaps that is what death is: a sensation of great, of extreme superiority.

The mind is the result of the torments the flesh undergoes or inflicts upon itself.

Man must vanquish himself, must do himself violence, in order to perform the slightest action untainted by evil.

What a pity that 'nothingness' has been devalued by an abuse of it made by philosophers unworthy of it!

I lost my sleep, and this is the greatest tragedy that can befall someone. It is much worse than sitting in prison.