If we manage to last in spite of everything, it is because our infirmities are so many and so contradictory that they cancel each other out.

If just once you were depressed for no reason, you have been so all your life without knowing.

Who Rebels? Who rises in arms? Rarely the slave, but almost always the oppressor turned slave.

Far from diminishing the appetite for power, suffering exasperates it.

By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.

Humanity adores only those who cause it to perish.

Nothing sweeter than to drag oneself along behind events; and nothing more reasonable. But without a strong dose of madness, no initiative, no enterprise, no gesture. Reason: the rust of our vitality. It is the madman in us who forces us to adventure; once he abandons us, we are lost; everything depends on him, even our vegetative life; it is he who invites us, who obliges us to breathe, and it is also he who forces our blood to venture through our veins. Once he withdraws, we are alone indeed! We cannot be normal and alive at the same time.