Every thought should recall the ruin of a smile.

The universal view melts things into a blur.

There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.

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.

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.

Our first intuitions are the true ones.

The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live - moreover, the only one.

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 aphorism is cultivated only by those who have known fear in the midst of words, that fear of collapsing with all the words.

The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.

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?

We must tell the world that even though we elected a bigot, bigotry will not prevail.

Yes, one can repent of moral transgression. The miracle of forgiveness is real, and true repentance is accepted of the Lord.

Certainly there are people who like me, but then there are those who don't know me who gossip about me. You can't believe the things I've heard.

It was the proudest moment of my career to lead my team out at the home of English football. I never, ever dreamt that would happen!

Of this be wary. Honor and fame are often regarded as interchangeable. Both involve an appraisal of the individual. . . but I suggest this difference. Fame is morally neutral.

I never expect a soldier to think.

It's easy to convince men to love you, Puck. All you have to do is be a mountain they have to climb or a poem they don't understand.

I'm an engineer and a writer. And I find that those two things are not uncomplementary.

It seems, after all that there are no nonpeculiar people.

Of two evils we must always choose the least.