A distant enemy is always preferable to one at the gate.

No one can keep his griefs in their prime; they use themselves up.

The literary man? An indiscreet man, who devaluates his miseries, divulges them, tells them like so many beads: immodesty-the sideshow of second thoughts-is his rule; he offers himself.

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.

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.

Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.

What pride to discover that nothing belongs to you - what a revelation.