Adulterers, take warning, never admit.

They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.

But he had hardly felt the absurdity of those things, on the one hand, and the necessity of those others, on the other, (for it is rare that the feeling of absurdity is not followed by the feeling of necessity), when he felt the absurdity of those things of which he had just felt the necessity (for it is rare that the feeling of necessity is not followed by the feeling of absurdity.)

Where am I, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.

I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.

I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come.

Do we mean love, when we say love?