Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes
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Generally speaking there is no irreducible taste or inclination. They all represent a certain appropriative choice of being. It is up to existential psychoanalysis to compare and classify them. Ontology abandons us here; it has merely enabled us to determine the ultimate ends of human reality, its fundamental possibilities, and the value which haunts it.
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What I see is teeming cohesion, contained dispersal…. For him, to sculpt is to take the fat off space.
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Ah! yes, I know: those who see me rarely trust my word: I must look too intelligent to keep it.
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All human activities are equivalent … and … all are on principle doomed to failure.
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It is the same: a chosen one is a man whom God’s finger crushes against the wall.
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Virtue is the death of conscience because it is the habit of Good, and yet the ethic of the honest man infinitely prefers virtue to the noblest agonies of conscience. Thus, being poses nonbeing and eliminates it. There is only being
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Quand les riches se font la guerre, ce sont les pauvres qui meurent.
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L'homme est une passion inutile.
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Don’t you feel the same way? When I cannot see myself, even though I touch myself, I wonder if I really exist.
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I exist. It is soft, so soft, so slow. And light: it seems as though it suspends in the air. It moves.
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It is certain that we cannot escape anguish, for we are anguish.
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He was free, free in every way, free to behave like a fool or a machine, free to accept, free to refuse, free to equivocate; to marry, to give up the game, to drag this death weight about with him for years to come. He could do what he liked, no one had the right to advise him, there would be for him no Good or Evil unless he thought them into being.
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Since he is unable to be the beloved, he will become the lover.
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I came to claim my kingdom and you refused me because I was not one of you. Now I am one of you, my subjects, we are bound by blood, and I deserve to be your king. Your sins and your remorse, your mighty anguish, I take all upon myself. Fear your dead no more, they are my dead.
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Who can exhaust a man? Who knows a man’s resources?
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As for us, my little friend, we entered the Communist Party because we were tired of dying of hunger.
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They are in bad faith - they are afraid - and fear, bad faith have an aroma that the gods find delicious. Yes, the gods like that, the pitiful souls.
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The consciousness of being betrayed is to the collective consciousness of a sacred group what a certain form of schizophrenia is to the individual…it is a form of madness.
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I grasp at each second, trying to suck it dry: nothing happens which I do not seize, which I do not fix forever in myself, nothing, neither the fugitive tenderness of those lovely eyes, nor the noises of the street, nor the false dawn of early morning: and even so the minute passes and I do not hold it back, I like to see it pass.
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It is the good children, Madame, who make the most terrible revolutionaries. They say nothing, they do not hide under the table, they eat only one sweet at a time, but later on, they make Society pay dearly for it!
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Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.
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One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one’s death, one dies one’s life.
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This inner revolution is realistic because it maintains itself deliberately within the framework of existing institutions; the oppressed reckon with the real situation.
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Similarly, individual acts of aristocratic generosity do not eliminate pauperism; they perpetuate it.