My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I’m going to sleep.
JEAN-PAUL SARTREExistence is not something which lets itself be thought of from a distance; it must invade you suddenly, master you, weigh heavily on your heart like a great motionless beast – or else there is nothing at all.
More Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes
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Words are loaded pistols.
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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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Only the guy who isn’t rowing has time to rock the boat.
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When the rich wage war it’s the poor who die.
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In football everything is complicated by the presence of the opposite team.
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It is disgusting – Why must we have bodies?
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Once you hear the details of victory, it is hard to distinguish it from a defeat.
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Tme is too large, it can’t be filled up. Everything you plunge into it is stretched and disintegrates.
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Hell is – other people!
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I am myself and I am here.
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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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I confused things with their names: that is belief.
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A madman’s ravings are absurd in relation to the situation in which he finds himself, but not in relation to his madness.
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In love, one and one are one.
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For an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it.
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The consciousness that says ‘I am’ is not the consciousness that thinks.
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I am not asking for sensational revelations, but I would like to sense the meaning of that minute, to feel it’s urgency.
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She believed in nothing. Only her scepticism kept her from being an atheist.
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We are our choices.
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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 for me, I am mean: that means that I need the suffering of others to exist. A flame. A flame in their hearts. When I am all alone, I am extinguished.
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That’s what existence means: draining one’s own self dry without the sense of thirst.
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I am a mere breath of air; a formless thought that thinks of you.
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I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have been dragged through I don’t know how many consciences.
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I found the human heart empty and insipid everywhere except in books.
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You are — your life, and nothing else.
JEAN-PAUL SARTRE