It is enough that one man hate another for hate to gain, little by little, all mankind.

We cannot withdraw our cards from the game. Were we as silent and mute as stones, our very passivity would be an act.

I said to myself, 'I want to die decently'.

There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.

Fascism is not defined by the number of its victims, but by the way it kills them.

I receive letters from workers, from secretaries. . . . They are the most interesting ones.

I grow warm, I begin to feel happy. There is nothing extraordinary in this, it is a small happiness of Nausea: it spreads at the bottom of the viscous puddle, at the bottom of out time - the time of purple suspenders, and broken chair seats; it is made of white, soft instants, spreading at the edge, like an oil stain. No sooner than born, it is already old, it seems as though I have known it for twenty years.