Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.

He who has never envied the vegetable has missed the human drama.

How good would it be if one could die by throwing oneself into an infinite void.

To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.

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?

We are born to exist, not to know, to be, not to assert ourselves.

No human beings are more dangerous than those who have suffered for a belief