The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live - moreover, the only one.

Losing love is so rich a philosophical ordeal that it makes a hairdresser into a rival of Socrates.

All the concessions we make to Eros are holes in our desire for the absolute.

I lost my sleep, and this is the greatest tragedy that can befall someone. It is much worse than sitting in prison.

Where are my sensations? They have melted into... me, and what is this me, this self, but the sum of these evaporated sensations?

What are you waiting for in order to give up?

Old age, after all, is merely the punishment for having lived.