It would be much better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh. They stretch out and there's no end to them and they leave a funny taste in the mouth. Then there are words, inside the thoughts, unfinished words, a sketchy sentence which constantly returns...It goes, it goes ... and there's no end to it. It's worse than the rest because I feel responsible and have complicity in it. For example, this sort of painful rumination: I exist, I am the one who keeps it up. I.

He is always becoming, and if it were not for the contingency of death, he would never end.

The universe remains dark. We are animals struck by catastrophe.

I will not be modest. Humble, as much as you like, but not modest. Modesty is the virtue of the lukewarm.

Freedom is existence, and in it existence precedes essence.

I have crossed the seas, I have left cities behind me, and I have followed the source of rivers towards their source or plunged into forests, always making for other cities. I have had women, I have fought with men ; and I could never turn back any more than a record can spin in reverse. And all that was leading me where ? To this very moment.

It is always more valuable to report the truth.