I had spent my time counterfeiting eternity.

He is always becoming, and if it were not for the contingency of death, he would never end.

It is therefore senseless to think of complaining since nothing foreign has decided what we feel, what we live, or what we are.

For forty years I was conscripted by the absolute, the neurosis. The absolute is gone. There remain countless tasks among which literature is in no way privileged.

I have seen children dying of hunger. Over against a dying child La Nausee cannot act as a counterweight.

The For-itself, in fact, is nothing but the pure nihilation of the In-itself; it is like a hole of being at the heart of Being.

I’ve dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest. So gather me up, dear, fold me to your heart – and you’ll see how nice I can be.