A civilization begins to decline the moment Life becomes its sole obsession.

When we cannot be delivered from ourselves, we delight in devouring ourselves.

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

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."

Tears do not burn except in solitude.

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

The fear of your own solitude, of its vast surface and its infinity… Remorse is the voice of solitude. And what does this whispering voice say? Everything in us that is not human anymore.