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.

To exist is a habit I do not despair of acquiring.

Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.

Every thought should recall the ruin of a smile.

Each of us must pay for the slightest damage he inflicts upon a universe created for indifference and stagnation, sooner or later, he will regret not having left it intact.

Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.

Lucidity's task: to attain a correct despair, an Olympian ferocity.