After having struggled madly to solve all problems, after having suffered on the heights of despair, in the supreme hour of revelation, you will find that the only answer, the only reality, is silence.

What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?

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

We must suffer to the end, to the moment when we stop believing in suffering.

Read day and night, devour books - these sleeping pills - not to know but to forget! Through books you can retrace your way back to the origins of spleen, discarding history and its illusions.

A decadent civilization compromises with its disease, cherishes the virus infecting it, loses its self-respect.

Reality is a creation of our excesses.