Men Cry Because Things Are Not What

Thus I Progressed On The Surface Of Life, In The Realm Of Words As It Were, Never In Reality. All Those Books Barely Read, Those Friends Barely Loved, Those Cities Barely Visited, Those Women Barely Possessed! I Went Through The Gestures Out Of Boredom Or Absent-mindedness. Then Came Human Beings; They Wanted To Cling, But There Was Nothing To Cling To, And That Was Unfortunate--for Them. As For Me, I Forgot. I Never Remembered Anything But Myself.

And Never Have I Felt So Deeply At One And The Same Time So Detached From Myself And So Present In The World.

An Intellectual Is Someone Whose Mind Watches Itself.

The Primordial Sea Indefatigably Repeats The Same Words And Casts Up The Same Astonished Beings On The Same Sea-shore.

There Is But One Truly Serious Philosophical Problem And That Is Suicide.