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The truly solitary being is not the man who is abandoned by men, but the man who suffers in their midst, who drags his desert through the marketplace and deploys his talents as a smiling leper, a mountebank of the irreparable.
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Between Ennui and Ecstasy unwinds our whole experience of time.
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The more you live, the less useful it seems to have lived.
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Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.
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We derive our vitality from our store of madness.
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We are all geniuses when we dream.
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A man who fears ridicule will never go far, for good or ill: he remains on this side of this talents, and even if he has genius, he is doomed to mediocrity.
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I have decided not to oppose anyone ever again, since I have noticed that I always end by resembling my latest enemy.
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What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?
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To live... in any sense of the word... is to reject others; to accept them, one must renounce, do oneself violence.
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After having struggled madly to solve all problems, after having suffered on the heights of despair, in the supreme hour of revelation, you will find that the only answer, the only reality, is silence.
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The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.
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A great step forward was made the day men understood that in order to torment one another more efficiently they would have to gather together, to organize themselves into a society.
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Normal people have nothing to forget.