Life is a useless passion.
Life begins on the other side of despair.
If I relegate impossible Salvation to the prop room, what remains? A whole man, composed of all men and as good as all of them and no better than any.
The past is the luxury of proprietors.
Night is falling: at dusk, you must have good eyesight to be able to tell the Good Lord from the Devil.
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.