You’re lucky. I’m always conscious of myself —in my mind. Painfully conscious.
JEAN-PAUL SARTRENothingness lies coiled in the heart of being – like a worm.
More Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes
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Once you hear the details of victory, it is hard to distinguish it from a defeat.
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Only the guy who isn’t rowing has time to rock the boat.
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Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.
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We are our choices.
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That’s what existence means: draining one’s own self dry without the sense of thirst.
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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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Life is a useless passion.
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Nothingness lies coiled in the heart of being – like a worm.
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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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Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.
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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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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 suppose it is out of laziness that the world is the same day after day. Today it seemed to want to change. And then anything, anything could happen.
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Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.
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Nothingness haunts Being.
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That God does not exist, I cannot deny, That my whole being cries out for God I cannot forget.
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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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Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.
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Smooth and smiling faces everywhere, but ruin in their eyes.
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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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The worst part about being lied to is knowing you weren’t worth the truth.
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Little flashes of sun on the surface of a cold, dark sea.
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All that I know about my life, it seems, I have learned in books.
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The more sand that has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.
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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’d come to realize that all our troubles spring from our failure to use plain, clear-cut language.
JEAN-PAUL SARTRE