Losing love is so rich a philosophical ordeal that it makes a hairdresser into a rival of Socrates.
Wherever we go, we come up against the human, a repulsive ubiquity before which we fall into stupor and revolt, a perplexity on fire.
I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside.
Pursued by our origins... we all are.
True moral elegance consists in the art of disguising one's victories as defeats.
Suffering makes you live time in detail, moment after moment. Which is to say that it exists for you: over the others, the ones who don't suffer, time flows, so that they don't live in time, in fact they never have.