Existence is an imperfection.

A Soviet citizen, an official writer, once said to me: "The day when Communism (that is, well-being for everyone) reigns, man's tragedy will begin: his finitude."

Outside nature, against nature, without excuse, beyond remedy, except what remedy I find within myself.

Consciousness is a being the nature of which is to be conscious of the nothingness of its being.

Everything in my past, in my training, everything that has been most essential in my activity up to now has made me above all a man who writes, and it is too late for that to change.

Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.

No finite point has meaning without an infinite reference point.