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You must have a love, a great love, to ensure an alibi at unjustified despairs that conquer all of us.
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Believe me, religions are on the wrong track the moment they moralize and fulminate commandments. God is not needed to create guilt or to punish. Our fellow men suffice, aided by ourselves.
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The more I accuse myself, the more right I have to judge you. Even better, I make you judge yourself, which comforts me the more.
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I knew that I had shattered the harmony of the day, the exceptional silence of a beach where I'd been happy. Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.
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The true work of art is always on the human scale. It is essentially the one that says, 'less.
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There was a time when I didn’t at any minute have the slightest idea how I could reach the next one. Yes, one can wage war in this world, ape love, torture one’s fellow man, or merely say evil of one’s neighbour while knitting. But, in certain cases, carrying on, merely continuing, is superhuman.
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To create is likewise to give a shape to one's fate.
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I don't want to be a genius-I have enough problems just trying to be a man.
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They knew now that if there is one thing one can always yearn for, and sometimes attain, it is human love.
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A single sentence will suffice for modern man. He fornicated and read the papers. After that vigorous definition, the subject will be, if I may say so, exhausted.
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Life is a sum of all your choices". So, what are you doing today?
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Love cannot accept what it is. Everywhere on earth it cries out against kindness, compassion, intelligence, everything that leads to compromise. Love demands the impossible, the absolute, the sky on fire, inexhaustible springtime, life after death, and death itself transfigured into eternal life.
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It was in Spain that my generation learned that one can be right and yet be beaten, that force can vanquish spirit, that there are times when courage is not its own recompense. It is this, doubtless, which explains why so many, the world over, feel the Spanish drama as a personal tragedy.
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When love ceases to be tragic it is something else and the individual again throws himself in search of tragedy.
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Without work all life goes rotten.
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The need to be right is the sign of a vulgar mind.
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I feel like getting married, or committing suicide, or subscribing to L'Illustration. Something desperate, you know.
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Those who prefer their principles over their happiness, they refuse to be happy outside the conditions they seem to have attached to their happiness.
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I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.
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Against eternal injustice, man must assert justice, and to protest against the universe of grief, he must create happiness.
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There is no frontier between being and appearing.
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Every great work makes the human face more admirable and richer, and this is its whole secret.
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At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise . . . that denseness and that strangeness of the world is absurd.
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All that remains is a fate whose outcome alone is fatal. Outside of that single fatality of death, everything, joy or happiness, is liberty. A world remains of which man is the sole master. What bound him was the illusion of another world. The outcome of his thought, ceasing to be renunciatory, flowers in images. It frolics-\-\-in myths, to be sure, but myths with no other depth than that of human suffering and, like it, inexhaustible. Not the divine fable that amuses and blinds, but the terrestrial face, gesture, and drama in which are summed up a difficult wisdom and an ephemeral passion.