Who cares about great marks left behind? We have one life... just one. Our life. We have nothing else.

We play make believe, pretend to take ourselves and each other seriously--to love each other, hate each other--but then--it isn't true. It isn't true, we don't care at all!

All of us are mad. If it weren't for the fact that every one of us is slightly abnormal, there wouldn't be any point in giving each person a separate name.

Justice! Custodian of the world! But since the world errs, justice must be custodian of the world's errors.

A vague uneasiness: the police. It's like when you suddenly understand you have to undress in front of the doctor.

We know well enough when we're being unjust and despicable. but we don't restrain ourselves because we experience a certain pleasure, a primitive sort of satisfaction in moments like that.

Nobody is bound by any obligation unless it has first been freely accepted.