Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself.

I want to leave, to go somewhere where I should be really in my place, where I would fit in . . . but my place is nowhere; I am unwanted.

If I relegate impossible Salvation to the prop room, what remains? A whole man, composed of all men and as good as all of them and no better than any.

When I can't see myself in the mirror, I can't even feel myself, and I begin to wonder if I exist at all.

Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.

What I see is teeming cohesion, contained dispersal... For him, to sculpt is to take the fat off space.

Everything that exists is born for no reason, carries on living through weakness, and dies by accident