We interest others by the misfortune we spread around us.

We would not be interested in human beings if we did not have the hope of someday meeting someone worse off than ourselves.

Imaginary pains are by far the most real we suffer, since we feel a constant need for them and invent them because there is no way of doing without them.

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

Ideas should be neutral. But man animates them with his passions and folly. Impure and turned into beliefs, they take on the appearance of reality. The passage from logic is consummated. Thus are born ideologies, doctrines, and bloody farce.

Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself.

To have committed every crime but that of being a father.