As long as I live I shall not allow myself to forget that I shall die; I am waiting for death so that I can forget about it.

Tell me how you want to die, and I'll tell you who you are.

Heroes abound at the dawn of civilizations, during pre-Homeric and Gothic epochs, when people, not having yet experienced spiritual torture, satisfy their thirst for renunciation through a derivative: heroism.

Love of the absolute engenders a predilection for self-destruction. Hence the passion for monasteries and brothels. Cells and women, in both cases. Weariness with life fares well in the shadow of whores and saintly women.

Self-conscious rejection of the absolute is the best way to resist God; thus illusion, the substance of life, is saved.

All that is Life in me urges me to give up God.

To win the guilty kiss of a saint, I'd welcome the plague as a blessing

The poor maidservant who used to say that she only believed in God when she had a toothache puts all theologians to shame.

A harmonious being cannot believe in God. Saints, criminals, and paupers have launched him, making him available to all unhappy people.

The more one is obsessed with God, the less one is innocent. Nobody bothered about him in paradise. The fall brought about this divine torture. It's not possible to be conscious of divinity without guilt. Thus God is rarely to be found in an innocent soul.