We should, out of decency, choose for ourselves the moment to disappear.

“Meeting, after several years, someone we used to know as a child, the first glance almost always suggests that some great disaster must have befallen him” Leopardi, quoted by cioran.

Suicide is a sudden accomplishment, a lightning-like deliverance: it is nirvana by violence.

Creation is in fact a fault, man's famous sin thereby appearing as a minor version of a much graver one. What are we guilty of, except of having followed, more or less slavishly, the Creator's example? Easy to recognize in ourselves the fatality which was His: not for nothing have we issued from the hands of a wicked and woebegone god, a god accursed.

He who has never envied the vegetable has missed the human drama.

There is only this swarm of dying creatures stricken with longevity, all the more hateful in that they are so good at organizing their agony.

Love, a tacit agreement between two unhappy parties to overestimate each other.

We are all secularised anarchists today.

Isn't history ultimately the result of our fear of boredom?

To act is to anchor in the imminent future.