What do you do from morning to night?" "I endure myself.

As art sinks into paralysis, artists multiply. This anomaly ceases to be one if we realize that art, on its way to exhaustion, has become both impossible and easy.

There is not much difference between a mortal man and a dying man. The absurdity of making plans is only slightly more obvious in the second case.

If a man has not, by the time he is thirty, yielded to the fascination of every form of extremism—I don't know whether he is to be admired or scorned, regarded as a saint or a corpse.

By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing; but instead of nonchalantly promenading our own corruption, we exude our sweat and grow winded upon the fetid air.

By what aberration has suicide, the only truly normal action, become the attribute of the flawed?

Let us not be needlessly bitter: certain failures are sometimes fruitful.