Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.

This very second has vanished forever, lost in the anonymous mass of the irrevocable. It will never return. I suffer from this and I do not. Everything is unique - and insignificant.

The only way of enduring one disaster after the next is to love the very idea of disaster: if we succeed, there are no further surprises, we are superior to whatever occurs, we are invincible victims.

Our place is somewhere between being and nonbeing - between two fictions.

We cannot consent to be judged by someone who has suffered less than ourselves. And since each of us regards himself as an unrecognized Job.

Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.

The aphorism is cultivated only by those who have known fear in the midst of words, that fear of collapsing with all the words.