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My Mission Is To Kill Time, And Time's To Kill Me In Its Turn. How Comfortable One Is Among Murderers.

-Emile M. Cioran

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My Mission Is To

Emile M. Cioran

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My Mission Is To Kill Time, And Time's To Kill Me In Its Turn. How Comfortable One Is Among Murderers.

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We Inhabit A Language Rather Than A Country.

Old Age, After All, Is Merely The Punishment For Having Lived.

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?

An Existence Transfigured By Failure.

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

What Is That One Crucifixion Compared To The Daily Kind Any Insomniac Endures?

The Fear Of Your Own Solitude, Of Its Vast Surface And Its Infinity… Remorse Is The Voice Of Solitude. And What Does This Whispering Voice Say? Everything In Us That Is Not Human Anymore.

A Civilization Is Destroyed Only When Its Gods Are Destroyed.

Who Rebels? Who Rises In Arms? Rarely The Slave, But Almost Always The Oppressor Turned Slave.

The More Intense A Spiritual Leader's Appetite For Power, The More He Is Concerned To Limit It To Others.

Only Optimists Commit Suicide, Optimists Who No Longer Succeed At Being Optimists. The Others, Having No Reason To Live, Why Would They Have Any To Die?

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

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

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.

Let Us Not Be Needlessly Bitter: Certain Failures Are Sometimes Fruitful.

Negation Is The Mind's First Freedom, Yet A Negative Habit Is Fruitful Only So Long As We Exert Ourselves To Overcome It, Adapt It To Our Needs; Once Acquired It Can Imprison Us.

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

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

Existing Is Plagiarism.

So Long As Man Is Protected By Madness - He Functions - And Flourishes.

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

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.

Losing Love Is So Rich A Philosophical Ordeal That It Makes A Hairdresser Into A Rival Of Socrates.

Knowledge Subverts Love: In Proportion As We Penetrate Our Secrets, We Come To Loathe Our Kind, Precisely Because They Resemble Us.

No One Recovers From The Disease Of Being Born, A Deadly Wound If There Ever Was One.

If, At The Limit, You Can Rule Without Crime, You Cannot Do So Without Injustices.

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

If Each Of Us Were To Confess His Most Secret Desire, The One That Inspires All His Plans, All His Actions, He Would Say: "i Want To Be Praised."

No Position Is So False As Having Understood And Still Remaining Alive.

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

To Live Entirely Without A Goal! I Have Glimpsed This State, And Have Often Attained It, Without Managing To Remain There: I Am Too Weak For Such Happiness.

Life Is Merely A Fracas On An Unmapped Terrain, And The Universe A Geometry Stricken With Epilepsy.

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

Nothing Sweeter Than To Drag Oneself Along Behind Events; And Nothing More Reasonable. But Without A Strong Dose Of Madness, No Initiative, No Enterprise, No Gesture. Reason: The Rust Of Our Vitality. It Is The Madman In Us Who Forces Us To Adventure; Once He Abandons Us, We Are Lost; Everything Depends On Him, Even Our Vegetative Life; It Is He Who Invites Us, Who Obliges Us To Breathe, And It Is Also He Who Forces Our Blood To Venture Through Our Veins. Once He Withdraws, We Are Alone Indeed! We Cannot Be Normal And Alive At The Same Time.

Everything Is Pathology, Except For Indifference.

Nothing Proves That We Are More Than Nothing.

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.

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

Life Creates Itself In Delirium And Is Undone In Ennui.

Delirium Tremens

Only One Thing Matters: Learning To Be The Loser.

We Dread The Future Only When We Are Not Sure We Can Kill Ourselves When We Want To.

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

We Cannot Be Normal And Alive At The Same Time.

Melancholy Redeems This Universe, And Yet It Is Melancholy That Separates Us From It.

We Are All Deep In A Hell Each Moment Of Which Is A Miracle.

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.

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

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.

Man Starts Over Again Everyday, In Spite Of All He Knows, Against All He Knows.

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

The Curtain Of The Universe Is Moth-eaten, And Through Its Holes We See Nothing Now But Mask And Ghost.

Philosophers Write For Professors; Thinkers For Writers.

Those Who Believe In Their Truth -- The Only Ones Whose Imprint Is Retained By The Memory Of Men -- Leave The Earth Behind Them Strewn With Corpses. Religions Number In Their Ledgers More Murders Than The Bloodiest Tyrannies Account For, And Those Whom Humanity Has Called Divine Far Surpass The Most Conscientious Murderers In Their Thirst For Slaughter.

There Is Only One Thing Worse Than Boredom, And That Is The Fear Of Boredom.

The Fact That Life Has No Meaning Is A Reason To Live - Moreover, The Only One.

Meaning Of Life

Society: An Inferno Of Saviors!

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 Task Of The Solitary Man Is To Be Even More Solitary.

No One Should Forget: Eros Alone Can Fulfill Life; Knowledge, Never. Only Eros Makes Sense; Knowledge Is Empty Infinity; – For Thoughts, There Is Always Time; Life Has Its Time; There Is No Thought That Comes Too Late; Any Desire Can Become A Regret.

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

Music Is The Refuge Of Souls Ulcerated By Happiness.

I Dream Of A Language Whose Words, Like Fists, Would Fracture Jaws.

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.

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

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.

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

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

Woes And Wonders Of Power, That Tonic Hell, Synthesis Of Poison And Panacea.

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.

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

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

Beware Of Thinkers Whose Minds Function Only When They Are Fueled By A Quotation.

Truths Begin By A Conflict With The Police - And End By Calling Them In.

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.

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

The Fanatic Is Incorruptible: If He Kills For An Idea, He Can Just As Well Get Himself Killed For One; In Either Case, Tyrant Or Martyr, He Is A Monster.

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

To Defy Heredity Is To Defy Billions Of Years, To Defy The First Cell

Does Our Ferocity Not Derive From The Fact That Our Instincts Are All Too Interested In Other People? If We Attended More To Ourselves And Became The Center, The Object Of Our Murderous Inclinations, The Sum Of Our Intolerances Would Diminish.

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

The Wise Man, The Sage, Is Hostile To The New. Disabused, He Abdicates: That Is His Form Of Protest.

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.

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

By All Evidence We Are In The World To Do Nothing.

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

Nothing Is So Wearing As The Possession Or Abuse Of Liberty.

To Foreswear Vengeance Is To Chain Oneself To Forgiveness, To Flounder In Pardon, To Be Tainted By The Hatred Smothered Within.

On Creating — What We Crave, What We Want To See In Others Eyes, Is That Servile Expression, An Unconcealed Infatuation With Our Gestures.

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

Every Thought Should Recall The Ruin Of A Smile.

Where Are My Sensations? They Have Melted Into... Me, And What Is This Me, This Self, But The Sum Of These Evaporated Sensations?

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.

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

Imaginary Pains Are By Far The Most Real We Suffer, Since We Feel A Constant Need For Them And Invent Them Because There Is No Way Of Doing Without Them.

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

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

Tolerance - The Function Of An Extinguished Ardor - Tolerance Cannot Seduce The Young.

What Are You Waiting For In Order To Give Up?

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

To Live... In Any Sense Of The Word... Is To Reject Others; To Accept Them, One Must Renounce, Do Oneself Violence.

As Far As I Am Concerned, I Resign From Humanity. I No Longer Want To Be, Nor Can Still Be, A Man. What Should I Do? Work For A Social And Political System, Make A Girl Miserable? Hunt For Weaknesses In Philosophical Systems, Fight For Moral And Esthetic Ideals? It’s All Too Little. I Renounce My Humanity Even Though I May Find Myself Alone. But Am I Not Already Alone In This World From Which I No Longer Expect Anything?

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

Chaos In The World

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

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.

Glory - Once Achieved, What Is It Worth?

Skepticism Is The Elegance Of Anxiety.

One Doesn't Live In A Country, One Lives In A Language.

Vague A L'ame - Melancholy Yearning For The End Of The World.

At This Very Moment, I Am Suffering—as We Say In French, J’ai Mal. This Event, Crucial For Me, Is Nonexistent, Even Inconceivable For Anyone Else, For Everyone Else. Except For God, If That Word Can Have A Meaning.

We Rightly Scorn Those Who Have No Made Use Of Their Defects, Who Have Not Exploited Their Deficiencies, And Have Not Been Enriched By Their Losses, As We Despise Any Man Who Does Not Suffer At Being A Man Or Simply At Being. Hence No Graver Insult Can Be Inflicted Than To Call Someone 'happy', No Greater Flattery Than To Grant Him A 'vein Of Melancholy'... This Is Because Gaiety Is Link To No Important Action And Because, Except For The Mad, No One Laughs When He Is Alone.

You Cannot Protect Your Solitude If You Cannot Make Yourself Odious.

I Would Like To Explode, Flow, Crumble Into Dust, And My Disintegration Would Be My Masterpiece.

Is It Possible That Existence Is Our Exile And Nothingness Our Home?

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

Each Time I Fail To Think About Death, I Have The Impression Of Cheating, Of Deceiving Someone In Me.

Under Each Formula Lies A Corpse.

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

Word - That Invisible Dagger.

We Cannot Consent To Be Judged By Someone Who Has Suffered Less Than Ourselves. And Since Each Of Us Regards Himself As An Unrecognized Job.

Every Thought Derives From A Thwarted Sensation.

Man Is A Robot With Defects.

A Man Who Fears Ridicule Will Never Go Far, For Good Or Ill: He Remains On This Side Of This Talents, And Even If He Has Genius, He Is Doomed To Mediocrity.

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

We Have Convictions Only If We Have Studied Nothing Thoroughly.

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

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.

The Art Of Love: Knowing How To Combine The Temperament Of A Vampire With The Discretion Of An Anemone.

We Define Only Out Of Despair, We Must Have A Formula... To Give A Facade Tot He Void.

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

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.

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

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

A Self-respecting Man Is A Man Without A Country. A Fatherland Is Birdlime.

In Order To Have The Stuff Of A Tyrant, A Certain Mental Derangement Is Necessary.

He Who Hates Himself Is Not Humble.

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

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

It Is Not Worth The Bother Of Killing Yourself, Since You Always Kill Yourself Too Late.

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

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.

Freedom Can Be Manifested Only In The Void Of Beliefs, In The Absence Of Axioms, And Only Where The Laws Have No More Authority Than A Hypothesis.

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

We Are Born To Exist, Not To Know, To Be, Not To Assert Ourselves.

I Cannot Contribute Anything To This World Because I Only Have One Method: Agony.

What To Think Of Other People? I Ask Myself This Question Each Time I Make A New Acquaintance. So Strange Does It Seem To Me That We Exist, And That We Consent To Exist.

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.

We Must Learn How To Explode! Any Disease Is Healthier Than The One Provoked By A Hoarded Rage.

Do I Look Like Someone Who Has Something To Do Here On Earth?' —that's What I'd Like To Answer The Busybodies Who Inquire Into My Activities.

If You're Unlucky Enough Not To Have Alcoholic Parents, It Takes You A Whole Lifetime Of Intoxication To Overcome The Dead Weight Of Their Virtues.

As The Years Pass, The Number Of Those We Can Communicate With Diminishes. When There Is No Longer Anyone To Talk To, At Last We Will Be As We Were Before Stooping To A Name.

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

History Is Nothing But A Procession Of False Absolutes, A Series Of Temples Raised To Pretexts, A Degradation Of The Mind Before The Improbable.

Better To Be An Animal Than A Man, An Insect Than An Animal, A Plant Than An Insect, And So On. Salvation? Whatever Diminishes The Kingdom Of Consciousness And Compromises Its Supremacy.

Basis Of Society: Anonymous Sweat.

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.

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

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

Consider Love: Is There A Nobler Outpouring, A Rapture Less Suspect? Its Shudders Rival Music, Compete With The Tears Of Solitude And Of Ecstasy: Sublime...but A Sublimity Inseperable From The Urinary Tract: Transports Bordering Upon Excretion, A Heaven Of The Glands, Sudden Sancitity Of The Orifices. It Takes No More Than A Moment Of Attention For This Intoxication, Shaken, To Cast You Back Into The Ordures Of Physiology Or A Moment Of Fatigue To Recognize That So Much Ardor Produces Only A Variety Of Mucous.

Pursued By Our Origins... We All Are.

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

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

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

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.

If Just Once You Were Depressed For No Reason, You Have Been So All Your Life Without Knowing.

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.

We Are So Lonely In Life That We Must Ask Ourselves If The Loneliness Of Dying Is Not A Symbol Of Our Human Existence.

I Have No Nationality - The Best Possible Status For An Intellectual.

We Interest Others By The Misfortune We Spread Around Us.

There Is No Limit To Suffering.

Self-conscious Rejection Of The Absolute Is The Best Way To Resist God; Thus Illusion, The Substance Of Life, Is Saved.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

To Want Fame Is To Prefer Dying Scorned Than Forgotten.

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

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

The Only Free Mind Is One That, Pure Of All Intimacy With Beings Or Objects, Plies Its Own Vacuity.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

Tolerance Cannot Seduce The Young.

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

My Mission Is To See Things As They Are. Exactly Contrary Of A Mission.

Positive Atheism

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.

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

No Human Beings More Dangerous Than Those Who Have Suffered For A Belief: The Great Persecutors Are Recruited From The Martyrs Not Quite Beheaded. Far From Diminishing The Appetite For Power, Suffering Exasperates It.

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

Fear Can Supplant Our Real Problems Only To The Extent -unwilling Either To Assimilate Or To Exhaust It -we Perpetuate It Within Ourselves Like A Temptation And Enthrone It At The Very Heart Of Our Solitude.

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

Skepticism Is The Sadism Of Embittered Souls.

Progress Is The Injustice Each Generation Commits With Regard To Its Predecessors.

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?

You Are Done For - A Living Dead Man - Not When You Stop Loving But Stop Hating. Hatred Preserves: In It, In Its Chemistry, Resides The Mystery Of Life.

Life Inspires More Dread Than Death - It Is Life Which Is The Great Unknown.

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