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.
Jean-Paul SartreThe world would get along very well without literature. It would get along even better without man.
Jean-Paul SartreDo you think I can read [Alain] Robbe-Grillet in an underdeveloped country? He does not feel himself maimed.
Jean-Paul SartreWe only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.
Jean-Paul Sartre