What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.
Great persecutors are recruited among martyrs whose heads haven't been cut off.
I cannot contribute anything to this world because I only have one method: agony.
Afflicted with existence, each man endures like an animal the consequences which proceed from it. Thus, in a world where everything is detestable, hatred becomes huger than the world and, having transcended its object, cancels itself out.
History proves nothing because it contains everything.
Were we to undertake an exhaustive self-scrutiny, disgust would paralyze us, we would be doomed to a thankless existence.