A man is involved in life, leaves his impress on it, and outside of that there is nothing.

The writer is committed when he plunges to the very depths of himself with the intent to disclose, not his individuality, but his person in the complex society that conditions and supports him.

There it is: I am gently slipping into the water's depths, towards fear.

The appearance of the other in the world corresponds therefore to a congealed sliding of the whole universe.

What I regretted in La Nausee was not to have put myself completely into the thing. I remained outside my hero's disease, protected by my neurosis which, through writing, gave me happiness.

In Les Mots I explain the origin of my madness, of my neurosis. This analysis may help the young who dream of writing.

As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become.