There are more truths in twenty-four hours of a man's life than in all the philosophies.

Everything has been said yet few have taken advantage of it. Since all our knowledge is essentially banal, it can only be of value to minds that are not.

In an industrial society which confuses work and productivity, the necessity of producing has always been an enemy of the desire to create.

Suffering is the pain of constraints. An atom of pure delight, no matter how small, can hold it at bay.

The eruption of lived pleasure is such that in losing myself I find myself; forgetting that I exist, I realize myself.

Who wants a world in which the guarantee that we shall not die of starvation entails the risk of dying of boredom?

In the twentieth century, death terrifies men less than the absence of real life. All these dead, mechanized, specialized actions, stealing a little bit of life a thousand times a day until the mind and body are exhausted, until that death which is not the