The absurd man will not commit suicide; he wants to live, without relinquishing any of his certainty, without a future, without hope, without illusions … and without resignation either. He stares at death with passionate attention and this fascination liberates him. He experiences the “divine irresponsibility” of the condemned man.

That God does not exist, I cannot deny, That my whole being cries out for God I cannot forget.

A writer must refuse to allow himself to be transformed into an institution, even if it takes place in the most honorable form.

I think [Alain Robbe-Grillet] a good writer, but he speaks to the comfortable bourgeoisie.

Time is too large, it can't be filled up. Everything you plunge into it is stretched and disintegrates.

I believe, I desire, that social and economic ills may be remedied.

I am. I am, I exist, I think, therefore I am; I am because I think, why do I think? I don't want to think any more, I am because I think that I don't want to be, I think that I . . . because . . . ugh!