The task of the solitary man is to be even more solitary.

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

If we manage to last in spite of everything, it is because our infirmities are so many and so contradictory that they cancel each other out.

Once you see that everything is unreal, you can't see why you should bother to prove it.

There was a time when time did not yet exist.

As far as I am concerned, I resign from humanity. I no longer want to be, nor can still be, a man. What should I do? Work for a social and political system, make a girl miserable? Hunt for weaknesses in philosophical systems, fight for moral and esthetic ideals? It’s all too little. I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone. But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?

When you have understood that nothing is, that things do not even deserve the status of appearances, you no longer need to be saved, you are saved, and miserable forever.