One could only damage oneself through the harm one did to others. One could never get directly at oneself.
Originally, poetry creates the myth, while the prose-writer draws its portrait.
Nothingness lies coiled in the heart of being - like a worm.
Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal.
I do not think therefore I am a moustache
Thrown into the atmosphere of action [in 1954], I suddenly understood the kind of neurosis that dominated all my previous work. I had not been able to recognize it before: I was inside. Simone de Beauvoir had guessed these reasons before I did.