To want fame is to prefer dying scorned than forgotten.

In the hours without sleep, each moment is so full and so vacant that it suggests itself as a rival of Time.

Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.

To exist is a habit I do not despair of acquiring.

It has been a long time since philosophers have read men's souls. It is not their task, we are told. Perhaps. But we must not be surprised if they no longer matter much to us.

We derive our vitality from our store of madness.

Boredom dismantles the mind, renders it superficial, out at the seams, saps it from within and dislocates it.