I am alone in the midst of these happy, reasonable voices. All these creatures spend their time explaining, realizing happily that they agree with each other. In Heaven's name, why is it so important to think the same things all together.

One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one's death, one dies one's life.

I am no longer sure of anything. If I satiate my desires, I sin but I deliver myself from them; if I refuse to satisfy them, they infect the whole soul.

I had spent my time counterfeiting eternity.

The plight of modern man is that he is condemmed to be free.

To love is never just to love since it is also to will to love, and ... to love in spite of oneself, to allow oneself to be overcome by one's love.

You see, the contemporary writer must write through his intimations of unease, while trying to elucidate them.