Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying, and hopes to live forever.

This free will business is a bit terrifying anyway. It's almost pleasanter to obey, and make the most of it.

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!

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

If we have anything kind to say, any tender sentiment to express, we feel a sense of shame.

A long association-prolonged human contact, when a man and woman live together-this ends up producing a sort of rot, a poison.

When I say "I," I mean a thing absolutely unique, not to be confused with any other.