There is in me an anarchy and frightful disorder. Creating makes me die a thousand deaths, because it means making order, and my entire being rebels against order. But without it I would die, scattered to the winds.
Every time somebody speaks of my honesty, there is someone who quivers inside me.
Heroism is accessible. Happiness is more difficult.
After all, every murderer when he kills runs the risk of the most dreadful of deaths, whereas those who kill him risk nothing except promotion.
You have to be very rich or very poor to live without a trade.
There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.
The real passion of the twentieth century is servitude.
Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.
To abandon oneself to principles is really to die – and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.
Those who write clearly have readers, those who write obscurely have commentators.
