As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become.

Some men are born committed to action: they do not have a choice, they have been thrown on a path, at the end of that path, an act awaits them, their act.

Evil is the product of the ability of humans to make abstract that which is concrete.

To believe is to know you believe, and to know you believe is not to believe.

Then I realized what separated us: what I thought about him could not reach him; it was psychology, the kind they write about in books. But his judgment went through me like a sword and questioned my very right to exist. And it was true, I had always realized it; I hadn't the right to exist. I had appeared by chance, I existed like a stone, a plant or a microbe. My life put out feelers towards small pleasures in every direction. Sometimes it sent out vague signals; at other times I felt nothing more than a harmless buzzing.

The appearance of the other in the world corresponds therefore to a congealed sliding of the whole universe.

Who can exhaust a man? Who knows a man's resources?