It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.

In a republic, that paradise of debility, the politician is a petty tyrant who obeys the laws.

Old age, after all, is merely the punishment for having lived.

Music is the refuge of souls ulcerated by happiness.

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.

By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing; but instead of nonchalantly promenading our own corruption, we exude our sweat and grow winded upon the fetid air.

Who Rebels? Who rises in arms? Rarely the slave, but almost always the oppressor turned slave.