To exist is a habit I do not despair of acquiring.
Not one moment when I have not been conscious of being outside Paradise.
Under each formula lies a corpse.
Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.
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.
True contact between beings is established only by mute presence, by apparent non-communication, by that mysterious and wordless exchange which resembles inward prayer.