Emil Cioran Quotes
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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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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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'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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Everything is nothing, including the consciousness of nothing.
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Who Rebels? Who rises in arms? Rarely the slave, but almost always the oppressor turned slave.
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Criticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselves.
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How good would it be if one could die by throwing oneself into an infinite void.
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We understand God by everything in ourselves that is fragmentary, incomplete, and inopportune.
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He who hates himself is not humble.
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The farther men get from God, the farther they advance into the knowledge of religions.
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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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How easy it is to be "deep": all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.
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The ideal being? An angel ravaged by humor.
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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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Psychoanalysis is a technique we practice at our cost; psychoanalysis degrades our risks, our dangers, our depths; it strips us of our impurities, of all that made us curious about ourselves.
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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 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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That history just unfolds, independently of a specified direction, of a goal, no one is willing to admit.
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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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Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.
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Try as I will, I don't see what might exist...
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I never met one interesting mind that was not richly endowed with inadmissible deficiencies.
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No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one.