Once you see that everything is unreal, you can't see why you should bother to prove it.

To exist is equivalent to an act of faith, a protest against the truth, an interminable prayer. As soon as they consent to live, the unbeliever and the man of faith are fundamentally the same, since both have made the only decision that defines a being.

Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.

Speech and silence. We feel safer with a madman who talks than with one who cannot open his mouth.

What is that one crucifixion compared to the daily kind any insomniac endures?

To venture upon an undertaking of any kind, even the most insignificant, is to sacrifice to envy.

We inhabit a language rather than a country.