There is no means of proving it is preferable to be than not to be.

Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.

To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.

We are born to exist, not to know, to be, not to assert ourselves.

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?

Every word affords me pain. Yet how sweet it would be if I could hear what the flowers have to say about death!

Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.