I saw that philosophy had no power to make my life more bearable. Thus I lost my belief in philosophy.

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?

You will never be able to go to the east if you follow people who are on the way that leads to the west.

If your eyes could speak, what would they say?

The best writing is embarrassing

A man of sixty has spent twenty years in bed and over three years in eating.

Slide slide slippity-slide When you're living in a city it's do or die

Until the killing of black men, black mothers' sons, becomes as important to the rest of the country as the killing of a white mother's sons, we who believe in freedom cannot rest until this happens.

You are down in the valley and the valley is filled with smog. You can't see too well. When we meditate, we are going beyond the smog to the top of the mountain.

We are defined by how we use our power.

You wait a lifetime to meet someone who understands you, accepts you as you are. At the end, you find that someone, all along, has been you.

"Tell me, doctor, " said the patient, "when I stand on my head, the blood rushes to it. Why doesn't it rush to my feet now?" "That's because your feet aren't empty," said the doctor.