To hope is to contradict the future.

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

A book has to dig through the wounds, more, it has cause a new one, a book it has to be dangerous.

Tears do not burn except in solitude.

I don’t understand why we must do things in this world, why we must have friends and aspirations, hopes and dreams. Wouldn’t it be better to retreat to a faraway corner of the world, where all its noise and complications would be heard no more? Then we could renounce culture and ambitions; we would lose everything and gain nothing; for what is there to be gained from this world?

Life without utopia is suffocating, for the multitude at least: threatened otherwise with petrifaction, the world must have a new madness.

The universal view melts things into a blur.