An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.

There is only one thing worse than boredom, and that is the fear of boredom.

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

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.

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.

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.

What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!