To exist is a habit I do not despair of acquiring.

It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.

Nostalgia, more than anything, gives us the shudder of our own imperfection. This is why with Chopin we feel so little like gods.

A sensation must have fallen very low to deign to turn into an idea.

Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui.

The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility.

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.