If I were to be totally sincere, I would say that I do not know why I live and why I do not stop living. The answer probably lies in the irrational character of life which maintains itself without reason.

No one can enjoy freedom without trembling.

Revenge is not always sweet, once it is consummated we feel inferior to our victim.

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.

Hungarian Language — savage it may be but of a beauty that has nothing human about it, with sonorities of another universe, powerful and corrosive, appropriate to prayer, to groans and to tears, risen out of hell to perpetuate its accent and its aura…words of nectar and cyanide.

What a pity that 'nothingness' has been devalued by an abuse of it made by philosophers unworthy of it!

As long as one believes in philosophy, one is healthy; sickness begins when one starts to think.