What do you think?
Rate this book
187 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1952
لماذا ننسحب ونغادراللعبة مادام في وسعناأن نخيب ظن المزيد من الكائنات؟
:D
If there is anyone who owes everything to Bach, it is certainly God.
"I am like a broken puppet whose eyes have fallen inside." This remark of a mental patient weighs more heavily than a whole stack of works on introspection.
Incredible that the prospect of having a biographer has made no one renounce having a life.
Objection to scientific knowledge: this world doesn't deserve to be known.
Not content with real sufferings, the anxious man imposes imaginary ones on himself; he is a being for whom unreality exists, must exist; otherwise where would he obtain the ration of torment his nature demands?
We suffer: the external world begins to exist...; we suffer to excess: it vanishes. Pain instigates the world only to unmask its unreality.
Philosophy's error is to be too endurable.
If someone incessantly drops the word "life," you know he's a sick man.
Thanks to depression - that alpinism of the indolent - we scale every summit and daydream over every precipice from our bed.
If just once you were depressed for no reason, you have been so all your life without knowing it.
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 skepticism which fails to contribute to the ruin of our health is merely an intellectual exercise.
Of all calumnies the worst is the one which attacks our indolence, which contests its authenticity.
Without God, everything is nothingness; and with God? Supreme nothingness.
No longer ask me for my program: isn't breathing one?
To hope is to contradict the future.
The intellectual represents the major disgrace, the culminating failure of Homo sapiens.
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 Creation was the first act of sabotage.
For two thousand years, Jesus has revenged himself on us for not having died on a sofa.
I believe in the salvation of humanity, in the future of cyanide...
"Where do you get those superior airs of yours?" "I've managed to survive, you see, all those nights when I wondered: am I going to kill myself at dawn?"
Only optimists commit suicide, the optimists who can no longer be...optimists. The others, having no reason to live, why should they have any to die?
On the frontiers of the self: "What I have suffered, what I am suffering, no one will ever know, not even I."
No one should try to live if he has not completed his training as a victim.