Who can exhaust a man? Who knows a man's resources?

Thrown into the atmosphere of action [in 1954], I suddenly understood the kind of neurosis that dominated all my previous work. I had not been able to recognize it before: I was inside. Simone de Beauvoir had guessed these reasons before I did.

What is life but an unpleasant interruption to a peaceful nonexistence.

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."

You see, I'm fond of teasing, it's a second nature with me—and I'm used to teasing myself. Plaguing myself, if you prefer; I don't tease nicely.

If you seek authenticity for authenticity's sake you are no longer authentic.

One of the chief motives of artistic creation is certainly the need of feeling that we are essential in relationship to the world.