“But the real, tremendous truth is this: suffering serves no purpose whatever.”

We never remember days, only moments.

Misfortunes cannot suffice to make a fool into an intelligent man.

We do not free ourselves from something by avoiding it, but only by living though it.

It’s pointless to cry. One is born and dies alone.

Waiting is still an occupation. It is having nothing to wait for that is terrible.

A decision, an action, are infallible omens of what we shall do another time, not for any vague, mystic, astrological reason but because they result from an automatic reaction that will repeat itself.

One stops being a child when one realizes that telling one’s trouble does not make it any better.

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.

To avenge a wrong done to you, is to rob yourself of the comfort of crying out against the injustice of it.

The act the act must not be a revenge. It must be a calm, weary renunciation, a closing of accounts, a private, rhythmic deed. The last remark.

There is no finer revenge than that which others inflict on your enemy. Moreover, it has the advantage of leaving you the role of a generous man.

Love is the cheapest of religions.

A man succeeds in completing a work only when his qualities transcend that work.

Great lovers will always be unhappy, because, for them, love is of supreme importance. Consequently they demand of their beloved the same intensity of thought as they have for her, otherwise they feel betrayed.

Love has the faculty of making two lovers seem naked, not in each other’s sight, but in their own.

The only way to escape the abyss is to look at it, gauge it, sound it out and descend into it.