Emil Cioran Quotes
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Wisdom disguises our wounds; it teaches us how to bleed in secret.
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'Neither this world, nor the next, nor happiness are for the being abandoned to doubt.' - This point in the Gita is my death sentence.
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Suicide is a sudden accomplishment, a lightning-like deliverance: it is nirvana by violence.
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If we had the courage to confront the doubts we timidly conceive about ourselves, none of us would utter an 'I' without shame.
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A distant enemy is always preferable to one at the gate.
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I would like to explode, flow, crumble into dust, and my disintegration would be my masterpiece.
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I am for the most part so convinced that everything is lacking in basis, consequence, justification, that if someone dared to contradict me, even the man I most admire, he would seem to me a charlatan or a fool.
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Try as I will, I don't see what might exist...
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When we cannot be delivered from ourselves, we delight in devouring ourselves.
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Time is heavy sometimes; imagine how heavy eternity must be.
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Good health is the best weapon against religion. Healthy bodies and healthy minds have never been shaken by religious fears.
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Refinement is a sign of a deficient vitality, in art, in love, and in everything.
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One does not inhabit a country; one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland - and no other.
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Psychoanalysis will be entirely discredited one of these days, no doubt about it. Which will not keep it from destroying our last vestiges of naivete. After psychoanalysis, we can never again be innocent.
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To live in a saint's heart? I'm afraid of setting the sky ablaze.
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There is not much difference between a mortal man and a dying man. The absurdity of making plans is only slightly more obvious in the second case.
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There is always someone above you: beyond God Himself rises Nothingness.
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Skepticism is the sadism of embittered souls.
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If you don't want to explode with rage, leave your memory alone, abstain from burrowing there.
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Try to be free: you will die of hunger.
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To win the guilty kiss of a saint, I'd welcome the plague as a blessing
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When you get over an infatuation, to fall for someone ever again seems so inconceivable that you imagine no one, not even a bug, that is not mired in disappointment.
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The ideal being? An angel ravaged by humor.
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Thanks to depression - that alpinism of the indolent - we scale every summit and daydream over every precipice from our bed.