Emil Cioran Quotes
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All philosophers should end their days at Pythia’s feet. There is only one philosophy, that of unique moments.
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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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No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one.
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Who Rebels? Who rises in arms? Rarely the slave, but almost always the oppressor turned slave.
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As the years pass, the number of those we can communicate with diminishes. When there is no longer anyone to talk to, at last we will be as we were before stooping to a name.
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Criticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselves.
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How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.
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We understand God by everything in ourselves that is fragmentary, incomplete, and inopportune.
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The skepticism which fails to contribute to the ruin of our health is merely an intellectual exercise.
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No matter which way we go, it is no better than any other. It is all the same whether you achieve something or not, have faith or not, just as it is all the same whether you cry or remain silent.
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As far as I am concerned, I resign from humanity. I no longer want to be, nor can still be, a man. What should I do? Work for a social and political system, make a girl miserable? Hunt for weaknesses in philosophical systems, fight for moral and esthetic ideals? It’s all too little. I renounce my humanity even though I may find myself alone. But am I not already alone in this world from which I no longer expect anything?
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The ideal being? An angel ravaged by humor.
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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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They ask you for facts, proofs, works, and all you can show them are transformed tears.
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No one has the audacity to exclaim: 'I don’t want to do anything!' -we are more indulgent with a murderer than with a mind emancipated from actions.
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The farther men get from God, the farther they advance into the knowledge of religions.
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He who hates himself is not humble.
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That history just unfolds, independently of a specified direction, of a goal, no one is willing to admit.
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By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.
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Everything exists; nothing exists. Either formula affords a like serenity. The man of anxiety, to his misfortune, remains between them, trembling and perplexed, forever at the mercy of a nuance, incapable of gaining a foothold in the security of being or in the absence of being.
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Having destroyed all my connections, burned my bridges, I should feel a certain freedom, and in fact I do. One so intense I am afraid to rejoice in it.
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I'm simply an accident. Why take it all so seriously?
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The reasons for persisting in Being seem less and less well founded, and our successors will find it easier than we to be rid of such obstinacy.
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Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.