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

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

Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.

Skepticism is the sadism of embittered souls.

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

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

Death makes no sense except to people who have passionately loved life. How can one die without having something to part from? Detachment is a negation of both life and death. Whoever has overcome his fear of death has also triumphed over life. For life is nothing but another word for this fear.