Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realizes himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.

I receive letters from workers, from secretaries. . . . They are the most interesting ones.

I was escaping from Nature and at last becoming myself, that Other whom I was aspiring to be in the eyes of others.

Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself.

How can I, who was not able to retain my own past, hope to save that of another?

What then did you expect when you unbound the gag that muted those black mouths? That they would chant your praises? Did you think that when those heads that our fathers had forcibly bowed down to the ground were raised again, you would find adoration in their eyes?

Life is nothing until it is lived; but it is yours to make sense of, and the of it is nothing other than the sense you choose.