He who hates himself is not humble.

Speech and silence. We feel safer with a madman who talks than with one who cannot open his mouth.

Only superficial minds approach an idea with delicacy.

The more we try to rest ourselves from our Egos, the deeper we sink into it.

Melancholy redeems this universe, and yet it is melancholy that separates us from it.

Wherever we go, we come up against the human, a repulsive ubiquity before which we fall into stupor and revolt, a perplexity on fire.

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.