Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.
JEAN-PAUL SARTREConsciousness is a being the nature of which is to be conscious of the nothingness of its being.
More Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes
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I have no religion, but if I were to choose one, it would be that of Shariati’s.
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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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Life has no meaning a priori, It is up to you to give it a meaning, and value is nothing but the meaning that you choose.
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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 are like dice. We throw ourselves in the direction of our own choosing.
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I’ve dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest. So gather me up, dear, fold me to your heart – and you’ll see how nice I can be.
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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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She believed in nothing. Only her scepticism kept her from being an atheist.
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That’s what existence means: draining one’s own self dry without the sense of thirst.
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You must be like me; you must suffer in rhythm.
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The consciousness that says ‘I am’ is not the consciousness that thinks.
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All that I know about my life, it seems, I have learned in books.
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Consciousness is a being the nature of which is to be conscious of the nothingness of its being.
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Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.
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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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I am a mere breath of air; a formless thought that thinks of you.
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I do not think, therefore I am a moustache.
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Smooth and smiling faces everywhere, but ruin in their eyes.
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In love, one and one are one.
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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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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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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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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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My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I’m going to sleep.
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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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I never could bear the idea of anyone’s expecting something from me. It always made me want to do the opposite.
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