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?

Tragic paradox of freedom: the mediocre men who alone make its exercise possible cannot guarantee its duration.

Life inspires more dread than death - it is life which is the great unknown.

I seem to myself, among civilized men, an intruder, a troglodyte enamored of decrepitude, plunged into subversive prayers.

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

I would like to explode, flow, crumble into dust, and my disintegration would be my masterpiece.

No one can enjoy freedom without trembling.