We would not be interested in human beings if we did not have the hope of someday meeting someone worse off than ourselves.

If truth were not boring, science would have done away with God long ago. But God as well as the saints is a means to escape the dull banality of truth.

We cannot consent to be judged by someone who has suffered less than ourselves. And since each of us regards himself as an unrecognized Job.

Every thought derives from a thwarted sensation.

Does our ferocity not derive from the fact that our instincts are all too interested in other people? If we attended more to ourselves and became the center, the object of our murderous inclinations, the sum of our intolerances would diminish.

There is no limit to suffering.

Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.