Losing love is so rich a philosophical ordeal that it makes a hairdresser into a rival of Socrates.
By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing.
Tyranny destroys or strengthens the individual; freedom enervates him, until he becomes no more than a puppet. Man has more chances of saving himself by hell than by paradise.
When we cannot be delivered from ourselves, we delight in devouring ourselves.
Between Ennui and Ecstasy unwinds our whole experience of time.
Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?