There was a time when time did not yet exist. … The rejection of birth is nothing but the nostalgia for this time before time.

The universal view melts things into a blur.

There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.

Do I look like someone who has something to do here on earth?' —That's what I'd like to answer the busybodies who inquire into my activities.

You are done for - a living dead man - not when you stop loving but stop hating. Hatred preserves: in it, in its chemistry, resides the mystery of life.

Our first intuitions are the true ones.

The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live - moreover, the only one.

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.

The aphorism is cultivated only by those who have known fear in the midst of words, that fear of collapsing with all the words.

The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous.

Only optimists commit suicide, optimists who no longer succeed at being optimists. The others, having no reason to live, why would they have any to die?

Smiling always seems to annoy people more than actually insulting them. Or maybe I just have an annoying smile.

Placing religious beliefs above law is a great recipe for destruction of entire human race.

She is so beautiful. Perfect. Mine.No. Not mine. I am hers.

Enjoying success requires the ability to adapt. Only by being open to change will you have a true opportunity to get the most from your talent.

There are a lot of pretty girls. I am a tennis player first of all, that is why I am here, and if wasn't producing results no one would notice me.

Little do women know what big ideas I have in my pants.

We often think of prayer as a means to an end. Prayer is the goal.

Purpose is a soft virtue- but it's what gives you steel in your spine.

Only ambitious nonentities and hearty mediocrities exhibit their rough drafts. It's like passing around samples of sputum.

I want a sofa, as I want a friend, upon which I can repose familiarly. If you can't have intimate terms and freedom with one and the other, they are of no good.