When people come to me saying they want to kill themselves, I tell them, "What’s your rush? You can kill yourself any time you like. So calm down. Suicide is a positive act." And they do calm down.

My enthusiasms...constitute my reserves, my unexploited resources, perhaps my future.

Our first intuitions are the true ones.

As far as I am concerned, I resign from humanity. I no longer want to be, nor can still be, a man. What should I do? Work for a social and political system, make a girl miserable? Hunt for weaknesses in philosophical systems, fight for moral and esthetic ideals? It’s all too little. I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone. But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?

Only optimists commit suicide, optimists who no longer succeed at being optimists. The others, having no reason to live, why would they have any to die?

True confessions are written with tears only. But my tears would drown the world, as my inner fire would reduce it to ashes.

Where are my sensations? They have melted into... me, and what is this me, this self, but the sum of these evaporated sensations?