I had spent my time counterfeiting eternity.

Don't you feel the same way? When I cannot see myself, even though I touch myself, I wonder if I really exist.

There is no book of mine that I reject. That does not mean that I find them good.

The plight of modern man is that he is condemmed to be free.

This is the basis for the joy of love when there is joy; we feel that our existence is justified.

Absurd, irreducible; nothing--not even a profound and secret delirium of nature--could explain [a tree root].

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.