As long as one believes in philosophy, one is healthy; sickness begins when one starts to think.
The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live-moreover, the only one.
The only successful philosophies and religions are the ones that flatter us, whether in the name of progress or of hell. Damned or not, man experiences an absolute need to be at the heart of everything.
In numele si sub teroarea ei (plictiselii, n.m.) parasesc oamenii caminul si moartea agreabila legata de el si se avanta in lume, spre a muri undeva fara acoperis si fara lacrimi; adolescentii se gandesc la sinucideri in zile infinite de primavara, iar servitoarele fara amanti se lamenteaza duminicile, de parca inima lor e un cimitir in care mortii nu pot dormi.
Tristetea, ca si suferinta, ne revela existenta, deoarece în ele avem în constiinta separatia noastra de lumea obiectiva si nelinistea care da un caracter tragic vietuirii în existenta.Daca ar exista un zeu al tristetii, lui nu i-ar putea creste decât aripi negre si grele, pentru a zbura nu înspre ceruri, ci în infern.
One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland – and no other.
The desire to die was my one and only concern; to it I have sacrificed everything, even death.
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.
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.
The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live –moreover, the only one.
If it is true that by death we once more become what we were before being, would it not have been better to abide by that pure possibility, not to stir from it? What use was this detour, when we might have remained forever in an unrealized plenitude?
Each time I fail to think about death, I have the impression of cheating, of deceiving someone in me.
Only musical ecstasy makes me feel immortal. Oh, those clear days when your heart borrows color from the sky, and deep sonoroties revive memories from beyond the horizon! It will be in vain then to try and shed tears for time.
The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live –moreover, the only one.
Nu pot fi eu insumi decat daca ma inalt pana la furie sau cobor pana la descurajare: la nivelul meu obisnuit, ignor faptul ca exist.
Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.
Knowledge subverts love: in proportion as we penetrate our secrets, we come to loathe our kind, precisely because they resemble us.
All great conversions are born from the sudden revelation of life’s meaninglessness. Nothing could be more moving or more impressive than this sudden apprehension of the void of existence.
As incompetent in life as in death, I loathe myself and in this loathing I dream of another life, another death. And for having sought to be a sage such as never was, I am only a madman among the mad . . .