Ideas come as you walk, Nietzsche said. Walking dissipates thoughts, Shankara taught.

Maniacs of Procreation, bipeds with devalued faces, we have lost all appeal for each other.

God: a disease we imagine we are cured of because no one dies of it nowadays.

If each of us were to confess his most secret desire, the one that inspires all his plans, all his actions, he would say: "I want to be praised."

The importance of insomnia is so colossal that I am tempted to define man as the animal who cannot sleep. Why call him a rational animal when other animals are equally reasonable? But there is not another animal in the entire creation that wants to sleep yet cannot.

What to think of other people? I ask myself this question each time I make a new acquaintance. So strange does it seem to me that we exist, and that we consent to exist.

A regret understood by no one: the regret to be a pessimist. It’s not easy to be on the wrong foot with life.