The world would get along very well without literature. It would get along even better without man.

I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my mouth. I swallow. It slides down my throat, it caresses me — and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.

I do not understand! I understand nothing! I cannot understand nor do I want to understand! I want to believe! To Believe!

I wanted the moments of my life to follow and order themselves like those of a life remembered. You might as well try and catch time by the tail.

I distrust the incommunicable; it is the source of all violence

This [service to oppressed] is the writer's task, and, if he fulfills it as he should, he acquires no merit from it.

I have always been happy. Even if I had been more honest with regard to myself at that moment I should still have written La Nausee.