Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.
Basis of society: anonymous sweat.
Word - that invisible dagger.
Jealousy - that jumble of secret worship and ostensible aversion.
There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.
After having struggled madly to solve all problems, after having suffered on the heights of despair, in the supreme hour of revelation, you will find that the only answer, the only reality, is silence.