If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.
JEAN-PAUL SARTREEvery existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.
More Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes
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People are like dice. We throw ourselves in the direction of our own choosing.
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We only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.
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Once you hear the details of victory, it is hard to distinguish it from a defeat.
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There is no human nature, since there is no god to conceive it.
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There is a universe behind and before him. And the day is approaching when closing the last book on the last shelf on the far left; he will say to himself, “now what?
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Hell is – other people!
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The consciousness that says ‘I am’ is not the consciousness that thinks.
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I want to leave, to go somewhere where I should be really in my place, where I would fit in, but my place is nowhere; I am unwanted.
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Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.
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Three o’clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do.
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It is therefore senseless to think of complaining since nothing foreign has decided what we feel, what we live, or what we are.
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A man is involved in life, leaves his impress on it, and outside of that there is nothing.
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Everything has been figured out, except how to live.
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To think new thoughts you have to break the bones in your head.
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I found the human heart empty and insipid everywhere except in books.
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It was odd, he thought, that a man could hate himself as though he were someone else.
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Life is a useless passion.
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The worst part about being lied to is knowing you weren’t worth the truth.
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One always dies too soon – or too late. And yet one’s whole life is complete at that moment, with a line drawn neatly under it, ready for the summing up. You are — your life, and nothing else.
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There is only one day left, always starting over: It is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.
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People who live in society have learnt how to see themselves, in mirrors, as they appear to their friends. I have no friends: is that why my flesh is so naked?
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I exist. It is soft, so soft, so slow. And light: it seems as though it suspends in the air. It moves.
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Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that’s all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition.
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Do you think that I count the days? There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.
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As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become.
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For an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it.
JEAN-PAUL SARTRE