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

For a long time—always, in fact—I have known that life here on earth is not what I needed and that I wasn’t able to deal with it; for this reason and for this reason alone, I have acquired a touch of spiritual pride, so that my existence seems to me the degradation and the erosion of a psalm.

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

If I were to be totally sincere, I would say that I do not know why I live and why I do not stop living. The answer probably lies in the irrational character of life which maintains itself without reason.

Normal people have nothing to forget.

Better to be an animal than a man, an insect than an animal, a plant than an insect, and so on. Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy.

There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.