Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do.

The absurd man will not commit suicide; he wants to live, without relinquishing any of his certainty, without a future, without hope, without illusions … and without resignation either. He stares at death with passionate attention and this fascination liberates him. He experiences the “divine irresponsibility” of the condemned man.

What's done at night belongs to the night. In the daytime you don't talk about it.

It is certain that we cannot escape anguish, for we are anguish.

A madman's ravings are absurd in relation to the situation in which he finds himself, but not in relation to his madness.

I am not asking for sensational revelations, but I would like to sense the meaning of that minute, to feel it's urgency.

Life is a useless passion.