So it comes to this; one doesn’t need rest. Why bother about sleep if one isn’t sleepy? That stands to reason, doesn’t it? Wait a minute, there’s a snag somewhere; something disagreeable. Why, now, should it be disagreeable? …Ah, I see; it’s life without a break.

What never vary are the necessities of being in the world, of having to labor and to die there.

To eat is to appropriate by destruction.

One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one's death, one dies one's life.

Take [Stéphane] Mallarme. I hold him to be the greatest of French poets, and I have taken some time to understand him !

I am responsible for everything... except my very responsibility.

Everything that exists is born for no reason, carries on living through weakness, and dies by accident