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

A distant enemy is always preferable to one at the gate.

Alone, even doing nothing, you do not waste your time. You do, almost always, in company. No encounter with yourself can be altogether sterile: Something necessarily emerges, even if only the hope of some day meeting yourself again.

We die in proportion to the words we fling around us.

One is and remains a slave as long as one is not cured of hoping.

You are done for - a living dead man - not when you stop loving but stop hating. Hatred preserves: in it, in its chemistry, resides the mystery of life.

To claim you are more detached, more alien to everything than anyone, and to be merely a fanatic of indifference!