A Distant Enemy Is Always Preferable To

If We Could See Ourselves As Others See Us, We Would Vanish On The Spot.

Shame On The Man Who Goes To His Grave Escorted By The Miserable Hopes That Have Kept Him Alive.

One Cannot Live Without Motives. I Have No Motives Left, And I Am Living.

Afflicted With Existence, Each Man Endures Like An Animal The Consequences Which Proceed From It. Thus, In A World Where Everything Is Detestable, Hatred Becomes Huger Than The World And, Having Transcended Its Object, Cancels Itself Out.

Ennui Is The Echo In Us Of Time Tearing Itself Apart.