Every human endeavor, however singular it seems, involves the whole human race.

The sun is not ridiculous, quite the contrary. On everything I like, on the rust of the construction girders, on the rotten boards of the fence, a miserly, uncertain light falls, like the look you give, after a sleepless night, on decisions made with enthusiasm the day before, on pages you have written in one spurt without crossing out a word.

The existentialist says at once that man is anguish.

Imagination is not an empirical or superadded power of consciousness, it is the whole of consciousness as it realizes its freedom.

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

A human being who wakened in the morning with a queesy stomach, with fifteen hours to kill before next bedtime, had not much use for freedom.

When one does nothing, one believes oneself responsible for everything.