Each of us must pay for the slightest damage he inflicts upon a universe created for indifference and stagnation, sooner or later, he will regret not having left it intact.

If just once you were depressed for no reason, you have been so all your life without knowing.

Consciousness is much more than the thorn, it is the dagger in the flesh.

The only free mind is one that, pure of all intimacy with beings or objects, plies its own vacuity.

It has been a long time since philosophers have read men's souls. It is not their task, we are told. Perhaps. But we must not be surprised if they no longer matter much to us.

To get up in the morning, wash and then wait for some unforeseen variety of dread or depression. I would give the whole universe and all of Shakespeare for a grain of ataraxy.

Glory - once achieved, what is it worth?