History is nothing but a procession of false Absolutes, a series of temples raised to pretexts, a degradation of the mind before the Improbable.

Utopia is a mixture of childish rationalism and secularized angelism.

Criticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselves.

A sudden silence in the middle of a conversation suddenly brings us back to essentials: it reveals how dearly we must pay for the invention of speech.

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

We are all deep in a hell each moment of which is a miracle.

We have convictions only if we have studied nothing thoroughly.