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Every Profound Dissatisfaction Is Of A Religious Nature: Our Failures Derive From Our Incapacity To Conceive Of Paradise And To Aspire To It, As Our Discomforts From The Fragility Of Our Relations With The Absolute.

-Emile M. Cioran

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Every Profound Dissatisfaction Is

Emile M. Cioran

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Every Profound Dissatisfaction Is Of A Religious Nature: Our Failures Derive From Our Incapacity To Conceive Of Paradise And To Aspire To It, As Our Discomforts From The Fragility Of Our Relations With The Absolute.

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Nothing Proves That We Are More Than Nothing.

We Cannot Be Normal And Alive At The Same Time.

Our Works, Whatever They May Be, Derive From Our Incapacity To Kill Or To Kill Ourselves.

I Seem To Myself, Among Civilized Men, An Intruder, A Troglodyte Enamored Of Decrepitude, Plunged Into Subversive Prayers.

What I Know At Sixty, I Knew As Well At Twenty. Forty Years Of A Long, Superfluous, Labor Of Verification.

Since All Life Is Futility, Then The Decision To Exist Must Be The Most Irrational Of All.

Futility Of Life

I Have Decided Not To Oppose Anyone Ever Again, Since I Have Noticed That I Always End By Resembling My Latest Enemy.

I Have Always Lived With The Awareness Of The Impossibility Of Living. And What Has Made Existence Endurable To Me Is My Curiosity As To How I Would Get From One Minute, One Day, One Year To The Next.

Even When Nothing Happens, Everything Seems Too Much For Me. What Can Be Said, Then, In The Presence Of An Event, Any Event?

A Sensation Must Have Fallen Very Low To Deign To Turn Into An Idea.

Whenever I Happen To Be In A City Of Any Size, I Marvel That Riots Do Not Break Out Everyday: Massacres, Unspeakable Carnage, A Doomsday Chaos. How Can So Many Human Beings Coexist In A Space So Confined Without Hating Each Other To Death?

A Sudden Silence In The Middle Of A Conversation Suddenly Brings Us Back To Essentials: It Reveals How Dearly We Must Pay For The Invention Of Speech.

I Am Like A Broken Puppet Whose Eyes Have Fallen Inside.

Consciousness Is Much More Than The Thorn, It Is The Dagger In The Flesh.

We Must Suffer To The End, To The Moment When We Stop Believing In Suffering.

The Reaction Against Your Own Thought In Itself Lends Life To Thought. How This Reaction Is Born Is Hard To Describe, Because It Identifies With The Very Rare Intellectual Tragedies. The Tension, The Degree And Level Of Intensity Of A Thought Proceeds From Its Internal Antinomies, Which In Turn Are Derived From The Unsolvable Contradictions Of A Soul. Thought Cannot Solve The Contradictions Of The Soul. As Far As Linear Thinking Is Concerned, Thoughts Mirror Themselves In Other Thoughts, Instead Of Mirroring A Destiny.

Tragic Paradox Of Freedom: The Mediocre Men Who Alone Make Its Exercise Possible Cannot Guarantee Its Duration.

Good Health Is The Best Weapon Against Religion. Healthy Bodies And Healthy Minds Have Never Been Shaken By Religious Fears.

Only One Thing Matters: Learning To Be The Loser.

Democracy: A Festival Of Mediocrity.

Shame On The Man Who Goes To His Grave Escorted By The Miserable Hopes That Have Kept Him Alive.

Tolerance Cannot Seduce The Young.

No Human Beings Are More Dangerous Than Those Who Have Suffered For A Belief

Every Form Of Talent Involves A Certain Shameless-ness.

Knowledge, Having Irritated And Stimulated Our Appetite For Power, Will Lead Us Inexorably To Our Ruin.

One Can Experience Loneliness In Two Ways: By Feeling Lonely In The World Or By Feeling The Loneliness Of The World.

If There Is Anyone Who Owes Everything To Bach, It Is Certainly God.

When We Cannot Be Delivered From Ourselves, We Delight In Devouring Ourselves.

Never To Have Occasion To Take A Position, To Make Up One's Mind, Or To Define Oneself - There Is No Wish I Make More Often.

Life Is Possible Only By The Deficiencies Of Our Imagination And Memory.

Ideas Should Be Neutral. But Man Animates Them With His Passions And Folly. Impure And Turned Into Beliefs, They Take On The Appearance Of Reality. The Passage From Logic Is Consummated. Thus Are Born Ideologies, Doctrines, And Bloody Farce.

The Sole Means Of Protecting Your Solitude Is To Offend Everyone, Beginning With Those You Love.

If You Lack The Power To Demoralize Yourself Along With The Age, To Go As Low And As Far, Do Not Complain Of Being Misunderstood By It.

We Inhabit A Language Rather Than A Country.

In A Republic, That Paradise Of Debility, The Politician Is A Petty Tyrant Who Obeys The Laws.

To Act Is To Anchor In An Imminent Future, So Imminent It Becomes Almost Tangible; To Act Is To Feel You Are Consubstantial With That Future.

No One Can Keep His Griefs In Their Prime; They Use Themselves Up.

I Never Met One Interesting Mind That Was Not Richly Endowed With Inadmissible Deficiencies.

Impossible To Spend Sleepless Nights And Accomplish Anything: If, In My Youth, My Parents Had Not Financed My Insomnias, I Should Surely Have Killed Myself.

The Multiplication Of Our Kind Borders On The Obscene; The Duty To Love Them, On The Preposterous.

By All Evidence We Are In The World To Do Nothing; But Instead Of Nonchalantly Promenading Our Own Corruption, We Exude Our Sweat And Grow Winded Upon The Fetid Air.

The Deepest Subjective Experiences Are Also The Most Universal, Because Through Them One Reaches The Universal Source Of Life.

Everything Is Pathology, Except For Indifference.

Jealousy - That Jumble Of Secret Worship And Ostensible Aversion.

Every Profound Dissatisfaction Is Of A Religious Nature: Our Failures Derive From Our Incapacity To Conceive Of Paradise And To Aspire To It, As Our Discomforts From The Fragility Of Our Relations With The Absolute.

The Only Way Of Enduring One Disaster After The Next Is To Love The Very Idea Of Disaster: If We Succeed, There Are No Further Surprises, We Are Superior To Whatever Occurs, We Are Invincible Victims.

Not To Be Born Is Undoubtedly The Best Plan Of All. Unfortunately, It Is Within No One's Reach.

Best Laid Plans

The More We Try To Rest Ourselves From Our Egos, The Deeper We Sink Into It.

To Venture Upon An Undertaking Of Any Kind, Even The Most Insignificant, Is To Sacrifice To Envy.

Existing Is Plagiarism.

A People Represents Not So Much An Aggregate Of Ideas And Theories As Of Obsessions.

An Existence Transfigured By Failure.

He Who Has Never Envied The Vegetable Has Missed The Human Drama.

Our Place Is Somewhere Between Being And Nonbeing - Between Two Fictions.

Criticism Is A Misconception: We Must Read Not To Understand Others But To Understand Ourselves.

Speech And Silence. We Feel Safer With A Madman Who Talks Than With One Who Cannot Open His Mouth.

The Need For Novelty Is The Characteristic Of An Alienated Gorilla.

I Try--without Success--to Stop Finding Reasons For Vanity In Anything. When I Happen To Manage It Nonetheless, I Feel That I No Longer Belong To The Mortal Gang. I Am Above Everything Then, Above The Gods Themselves. Perhaps That Is What Death Is: A Sensation Of Great, Of Extreme Superiority.

Each Of Us Is Born With A Share Of Purity, Predestined To Be Corrupted By Our Commerce With Mankind, By That Sin Against Solitude.

Thinking Should Be Like Musical Meditation. Has Any Philosopher Pursued A Thought To Its Limits The Way Bach Or Beethoven Develop And Exhaust A Musical Theme? Even After Having Read The Most Profound Thinkers, One Still Feels The Need To Begin Anew. Only Music Gives Definitive Answers.

What Surrounds Us We Endure Better For Giving It A Name - And Moving On.

Everything Turns On Pain; The Rest Is Accessory, Even Nonexistent, For We Remember Only What Hurts. Painful Sensations Being The Only Real Ones, It Is Virtually Useless To Experience Others.

Great Persecutors Are Recruited Among Martyrs Whose Heads Haven't Been Cut Off.

Try To Be Free: You Will Die Of Hunger.

To Possess A High Degree Of Consciousness, To Be Always Aware Of Yourself In Relation To The World, To Live In The Permanent Tension Of Knowledge, Means To Be Lost For Life.

How Easy It Is To Be "deep": All You Have To Do Is Let Yourself Sink Into Your Own Flaws.

How Good Would It Be If One Could Die By Throwing Oneself Into An Infinite Void.

As Art Sinks Into Paralysis, Artists Multiply. This Anomaly Ceases To Be One If We Realize That Art, On Its Way To Exhaustion, Has Become Both Impossible And Easy.

The Limit Of Every Pain Is An Even Greater Pain.

I'm Simply An Accident. Why Take It All So Seriously?

If A Man Has Not, By The Time He Is Thirty, Yielded To The Fascination Of Every Form Of Extremism—i Don't Know Whether He Is To Be Admired Or Scorned, Regarded As A Saint Or A Corpse.

A Garbled Quotation Is Equivalent To A Betrayal, An Insult, A Prejudice.

We Are Afraid Of The Enormity Of The Possible.

I Have Tried To Protect Myself Against Men, To React Against Their Madness To Discern Its Source; I Have Listened And I Have Seen--and I Have Been Afraid Of Acting For The Same Motives Or For Any Motive Whatever, Of Believing In The Same Ghosts Or In Any Other Ghost, Of Letting Myself Be Engulfed By The Same Intoxications Or By Some Other... Afraid, In Short, Of Raving In Common And Of Expiring In A Horde Of Ecstasies.

Lucidity's Task: To Attain A Correct Despair, An Olympian Ferocity.

To Think Is To Take A Cunning Revenge In Which We Camouflage Our Baseness And Conceal Our Lower Instincts.

Skepticism Is The Elegance Of Anxiety.

He Who Hates Himself Is Not Humble.

I Do Not Want To See Bp Nickel And Diming These Businesses That Are Having A Tough Time.

Doubt Works Deep Within You Like A Disease Or, Even More Effectively, Like A Faith.

History Proves Nothing Because It Contains Everything.

To Exist Is A Habit I Do Not Despair Of Acquiring.

To Hope Is To Contradict The Future.

All Great Ideas Should Be Followed By An Exclamation Mark - A Warning Signal Similar To The Skull And Crossbones Drawn On High-voltage Transformers.

Exclamation Marks

Think Of God And Not Religion, Of Ecstasy And Not Mysticism. The Difference Between The Theoretician Of Faith And The Believer Is As Great As Between The Psychiatrist And The Psychotic.

Utopia Is A Mixture Of Childish Rationalism And Secularized Angelism.

I Do Not Forgive Myself For Being Born. It Is As If Creeping Into This World, I Had Profaned A Mystery, Betrayed Some Momentous Pledge, Committed A Fault Of Nameless Gravity.

Tyranny Destroys Or Strengthens The Individual; Freedom Enervates Him, Until He Becomes No More Than A Puppet. Man Has More Chances Of Saving Himself By Hell Than By Paradise.

Consciousness Is Nature's Nightmare.

I Feel Completely Detached From Any Country, Any Group. I Am A Metaphysically Displaced Person

We Would Not Be Interested In Human Beings If We Did Not Have The Hope Of Someday Meeting Someone Worse Off Than Ourselves.

Meeting Someone

When People Come To Me Saying They Want To Kill Themselves, I Tell Them, "what’s Your Rush? You Can Kill Yourself Any Time You Like. So Calm Down. Suicide Is A Positive Act." And They Do Calm Down.

It Is Because We Are All Impostors That We Endure Each Other. The Man Who Does Not Consent To Lie Will See The Earth Shrink Under His Feet: We Are Biologically Obliged To The False

All That Shimmers On The Surface Of The World, All That We Call Interesting, Is The Fruit Of Ignorance And Inebriation.

Wisdom Disguises Our Wounds; It Teaches Us How To Bleed In Secret.

The Mind Is The Result Of The Torments The Flesh Undergoes Or Inflicts Upon Itself.

A Golden Rule: To Leave An Incomplete Image Of Oneself.

We Have Lost, Being Born, As Much As We Shall Lose Dying: Everything!

By What Aberration Has Suicide, The Only Truly Normal Action, Become The Attribute Of The Flawed?

What Does The Future, That Half Of Time, Matter To The Man Who Is Infatuated With Eternity?

Man Must Vanquish Himself, Must Do Himself Violence, In Order To Perform The Slightest Action Untainted By Evil.

True Contact Between Beings Is Established Only By Mute Presence, By Apparent Non-communication, By That Mysterious And Wordless Exchange Which Resembles Inward Prayer.

Every Thought Should Recall The Ruin Of A Smile.

Chaos Is Rejecting All You Have Learned, Chaos Is Being Yourself.

Chaos In The World

No One Can Enjoy Freedom Without Trembling.

Discretion Is Deadly To Genius; Ruinous To Talent.

The Literary Man? An Indiscreet Man, Who Devaluates His Miseries, Divulges Them, Tells Them Like So Many Beads: Immodesty-the Sideshow Of Second Thoughts-is His Rule; He Offers Himself.

God: A Disease We Imagine We Are Cured Of Because No One Dies Of It Nowadays.

Ideas Come As You Walk, Nietzsche Said. Walking Dissipates Thoughts, Shankara Taught.

Between The Demand To Be Clear,and The Temptation To Be Obscure, Impossible To Decide Which Deserves More Respect.

Hungarian Language — Savage It May Be But Of A Beauty That Has Nothing Human About It, With Sonorities Of Another Universe, Powerful And Corrosive, Appropriate To Prayer, To Groans And To Tears, Risen Out Of Hell To Perpetuate Its Accent And Its Aura…words Of Nectar And Cyanide.

Wherever We Go, We Come Up Against The Human, A Repulsive Ubiquity Before Which We Fall Into Stupor And Revolt, A Perplexity On Fire.

To Get Up In The Morning, Wash And Then Wait For Some Unforeseen Variety Of Dread Or Depression. I Would Give The Whole Universe And All Of Shakespeare For A Grain Of Ataraxy.

A Civilization Is Destroyed Only When Its Gods Are Destroyed.

We Understand God By Everything In Ourselves That Is Fragmentary, Incomplete, And Inopportune.

All People See Fires, Storms, Explosions, Or Landscapes; But How Many Feel The Flames, The Lightnings, The Whirlwinds, Or The Harmony? How Many Have An Inner Beauty That Tinges Their Melancholy?

The Premonition Of Madness Is Complicated By The Fear Of Lucidity In Madness, The Fear Of The Moments Of Return And Reunion... One Would Welcome Chaos If One Were Not Afraid Of Lights In It.

A Regret Understood By No One: The Regret To Be A Pessimist. It’s Not Easy To Be On The Wrong Foot With Life.

The Fear Of Being Deceived Is The Vulgar Version Of The Quest For Truth.

Society: An Inferno Of Saviors!

Ennui Is The Echo In Us Of Time Tearing Itself Apart.

I Saw That Philosophy Had No Power To Make My Life More Bearable. Thus I Lost My Belief In Philosophy.

Crime In Full Glory Consolidates Authority By The Sacred Fear It Inspires.

It Has Been A Long Time Since Philosophers Have Read Men's Souls. It Is Not Their Task, We Are Told. Perhaps. But We Must Not Be Surprised If They No Longer Matter Much To Us.

To Act Is To Anchor In The Imminent Future.

There Is No Means Of Proving It Is Preferable To Be Than Not To Be.

The Importance Of Insomnia Is So Colossal That I Am Tempted To Define Man As The Animal Who Cannot Sleep. Why Call Him A Rational Animal When Other Animals Are Equally Reasonable? But There Is Not Another Animal In The Entire Creation That Wants To Sleep Yet Cannot.

Only Those Moments Count, When The Desire To Remain By Yourself Is So Powerful That You'd Prefer To Blow Your Brains Out Than Exchange A Word With Someone.

What Pride To Discover That Nothing Belongs To You - What A Revelation.

That History Just Unfolds, Independently Of A Specified Direction, Of A Goal, No One Is Willing To Admit.

I Lost My Sleep, And This Is The Greatest Tragedy That Can Befall Someone. It Is Much Worse Than Sitting In Prison.

Psychoanalysis Is A Technique We Practice At Our Cost; Psychoanalysis Degrades Our Risks, Our Dangers, Our Depths; It Strips Us Of Our Impurities, Of All That Made Us Curious About Ourselves.

The Refutation Of Suicide: Is It Not Inelegant To Abandon A World Which Has So Willingly Put Itself At The Service Of Our Melancholy?

To Live Signifies To Believe And Hope - To Lie And To Lie To Oneself.

The Desire To Die Was My One And Only Concern; To It I Have Sacrificed Everything, Even Death.

My One And Only

Just As Ecstasy Purifies You Of The Particular And The Contingent, Leaving Nothing Except Light And Darkness, So Insomnia Kills Off The Multiplicity And Diversity Of The World, Leaving You Prey To Your Private Obsessions.

Transmitting One's Flaws [through Procreation] To Someone Else Is A Crime. I Could Never Consent To Give Life To Someone Who Would Inherent My Ailments.

Were We To Undertake An Exhaustive Self-scrutiny, Disgust Would Paralyze Us, We Would Be Doomed To A Thankless Existence.

The Obsession With Suicide Is Characteristic Of The Man Who Can Neither Live Nor Die, And Whose Attention Never Swerves From This Double Impossibility.

Trees Are Massacred, Houses Go Up — Faces, Faces Everywhere. Man Is Spreading. Man Is The Cancer Of The Earth.

Each Of Us Must Pay For The Slightest Damage He Inflicts Upon A Universe Created For Indifference And Stagnation, Sooner Or Later, He Will Regret Not Having Left It Intact.

A Civilization Begins To Decline The Moment Life Becomes Its Sole Obsession.

A Distant Enemy Is Always Preferable To One At The Gate.

Much More Than Our Other Needs And Endeavors, It Is Sexuality That Puts Us On An Even Footing With Our Kind: The More We Practice It, The More We Become Like Everyone Else: It Is In The Performance Of A Reputedly Bestial Function That We Prove Our Status As Citizens: Nothing Is More Public Than The Sexual Act.

No Matter Which Way We Go, It Is No Better Than Any Other. It Is All The Same Whether You Achieve Something Or Not, Have Faith Or Not, Just As It Is All The Same Whether You Cry Or Remain Silent.

Utopia Is The Grotesque En Rose, The Need To Associate Happiness - That Is, The Improbable - With Becoming, And To Coerce An Optimistic, Aerial Vision To The Point Where It Rejoins Its Own Source: The Very Cynicism It Sought To Combat. In Short, A Monstrous Fantasy.

The History Of Ideas Is The History Of The Grudges Of Solitary Men.

Tears Do Not Burn Except In Solitude.

Between Ennui And Ecstasy Unwinds Our Whole Experience Of Time.

What Strangely Enchanted Tunes Gush Forth During Those Sleepless Nights!

Man Is A Robot With Defects.

By Virtue Of Depression, We Recall Those Misdeeds We Buried In The Depths Of Our Memory. Depression Exhumes Our Shames.

I Do Nothing, Granted. But I See The Hours Pass - Which Is Better Than Trying To Fill Them.

One Does Not Inhabit A Country; One Inhabits A Language. That Is Our Country, Our Fatherland - And No Other.

A Decadent Civilization Compromises With Its Disease, Cherishes The Virus Infecting It, Loses Its Self-respect.

What A Pity That 'nothingness' Has Been Devalued By An Abuse Of It Made By Philosophers Unworthy Of It!

Man Started Out On The Wrong Foot. The Misadventure In Paradise Was The First Consequence. The Rest Had To Follow.

If We Manage To Last In Spite Of Everything, It Is Because Our Infirmities Are So Many And So Contradictory That They Cancel Each Other Out.

We Derive Our Vitality From Our Store Of Madness.

It Is An Understatement To Say That In This Society Injustices Abound: In Truth, It Is Itself The Quintessence Of Injustice.

Each Concession We Make Is Accompanied By An Inner Diminution Of Which We Are Not Immediately Conscious.

Insomnia Is A Vertiginous Lucidity That Can Convert Paradise Itself Into A Place Of Torture.

Music Is The Refuge Of Souls Ulcerated By Happiness.

There Was A Time When Time Did Not Yet Exist.

When You Have Understood That Nothing Is, That Things Do Not Even Deserve The Status Of Appearances, You No Longer Need To Be Saved, You Are Saved, And Miserable Forever.

I Foresee The Day When We Shall Read Nothing But Telegrams And Prayers.

I Have All The Defects Of Other People Yet Everything They Do Seems To Me Inconceivable.

The More One Has Suffered, The Less One Demands. To Protest Is A Sign One Has Traversed No Hell.

To Live In Any True Sense Of The Word Is To Reject Others; To Accept Them, One Must Be Able To Renounce, To Do Oneself Violence, To Act Against One's Own Nature, To Weaken Oneself; We Conceive Freedom Only For Ourselves - We Extend It To Our Neighbours Only At The Cost Of Exhausting Efforts; Whence The Precariousness Of Liberalism, A Defiance Of Our Instincts, A Brief And Miraculous Success, A State Of Exception, At The Antipodes Of Our Deepest Imperatives.

To Claim You Are More Detached, More Alien To Everything Than Anyone, And To Be Merely A Fanatic Of Indifference!

Society Is Not A Disease, It Is A Disaster. What A Stupid Miracle That One Can Live In It.

One Is And Remains A Slave As Long As One Is Not Cured Of Hoping.

The Aphorism Is Cultivated Only By Those Who Have Known Fear In The Midst Of Words, That Fear Of Collapsing With All The Words.

Life Without Utopia Is Suffocating, For The Multitude At Least: Threatened Otherwise With Petrifaction, The World Must Have A New Madness.

Philosophy Is A Corrective Against Sadness. Yet There Still Are People Who Believe In The Profundity Of Philosophy!

I Would Like To Go Mad On One Condition, Namely, That I Would Become A Happy Madman, Lively And Always In A Good Mood, Without Any Troubles And Obsessions, Laughing Senselessly From Morning To Night.

True Confessions Are Written With Tears Only. But My Tears Would Drown The World, As My Inner Fire Would Reduce It To Ashes.

Revenge Is Not Always Sweet, Once It Is Consummated We Feel Inferior To Our Victim.

The Deepest And Most Organic Death Is Death In Solitude, When Even Light Becomes A Principle Of Death. In Such Moments You Will Be Severed From Life, From Love, Smiles, Friends And Even From Death. And You Will Ask Yourself If There Is Anything Besides The Nothingness Of The World And Your Own Nothingness.

Read Day And Night, Devour Books - These Sleeping Pills - Not To Know But To Forget! Through Books You Can Retrace Your Way Back To The Origins Of Spleen, Discarding History And Its Illusions.

I Live Only Because It Is In My Power To Die When I Choose To: Without The Idea Of Suicide, I'd Have Killed Myself Right Away.

What Would Be Left Of Our Tragedies If An Insect Were To Present Us His?

Suffering Makes You Live Time In Detail, Moment After Moment. Which Is To Say That It Exists For You: Over The Others, The Ones Who Don't Suffer, Time Flows, So That They Don't Live In Time, In Fact They Never Have.

Death Makes No Sense Except To People Who Have Passionately Loved Life. How Can One Die Without Having Something To Part From? Detachment Is A Negation Of Both Life And Death. Whoever Has Overcome His Fear Of Death Has Also Triumphed Over Life. For Life Is Nothing But Another Word For This Fear.

What Do You Do From Morning To Night?" "i Endure Myself.

If Truth Were Not Boring, Science Would Have Done Away With God Long Ago. But God As Well As The Saints Is A Means To Escape The Dull Banality Of Truth.

One Cannot Live Without Motives. I Have No Motives Left, And I Am Living.

We Change Ideas Like Neckties.

An Aphorism? Fire Without Flames. Understandable That No One Tries To Warm Himself At It.

I Have Always Struggled, With The Sole Intention Of Ceasing To Struggle. Result: Zero.

There Is No Limit To Suffering.

For You Who No Longer Possess It, Freedom Is Everything, For Us Who Do, It Is Merely An Illusion.

If We Could See Ourselves As Others See Us, We Would Vanish On The Spot.

I Was Walking Late One Night Along A Tree-lined Path; A Chestnut Fell At My Feet. The Noise It Made As It Burst, The Resonance It Provoked In Me, And An Upheaval Out Of All Proportion To This Insignificant Event Thrust Me Into Miracle, Into The Rapture Of The Definitive, As If There Were No More Questions-only Answers. I Was Drunk On A Thousand Unexpected Discoveries, None Of Which I Could Make Use Of. ... This Is How I Nearly Reached The Supreme. But Instead I Went On With My Walk.

As Long As One Believes In Philosophy, One Is Healthy; Sickness Begins When One Starts To Think.

Illusion Begets And Sustains The World; We Do Not Destroy One Without Destroying The Other. Which Is What I Do Every Day. An Apparently Ineffectual Operation, Since I Must Begin All Over Again The Next Day.

To Want Fame Is To Prefer Dying Scorned Than Forgotten.

When Every Man Has Realized That His Birth Is A Defeat, Existence, Endurable At Last, Will Seem Like The Day After A Surrender, Like The Relief And The Repose Of The Conquered.

To Write Books Is To Have A Certain Relation With Original Sin. For What Is A Book If Not A Loss Of Innocence, An Act Of Aggression, A Repetition Of Our Fall?

The True Hero Fights And Dies In The Name Of His Destiny, And Not In The Name Of A Belief.

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