Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?

What does the future, that half of time, matter to the man who is infatuated with eternity?

We have lost, being born, as much as we shall lose dying: Everything!

We would not be interested in human beings if we did not have the hope of someday meeting someone worse off than ourselves.

Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?

To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.

If we had the courage to confront the doubts we timidly conceive about ourselves, none of us would utter an 'I' without shame.