Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes

The worst of misfortunes is still a stroke of luck, since one feels oneself living when one experiences it/

I'm going to leave, I'm going to take my train. But behind the existence which falls from one present to the other, without a past, without a future, behind these sounds which decompose from day to day, peel off and slip towards death, the melody stays the same, young and firm, like a pitiless witness.

Es kommt nicht darauf an, was man aus uns gemacht hat, sondern darauf, was wir aus dem machen, was man aus uns gemacht hat.

Лудите казват истината.
- Коя истина?
- Има само една истина - ужасът да се живее.

"What men have in common is not a "nature" but a condition, that is, an ensemble of limits and restrictions: the inevitability of death, the necessity of working for a living, of living in a world already inhabited by other men."

I lean all my weight on the porcelain ledge, I draw my face closer until it touches the mirror. The eyes, nose and mouth disappear: nothing human is left. Brown wrinkles show on each side of the feverish swelled lips, crevices, mole holes. A silky white down covers the great slopes of the cheeks, two hairs protrude from the nostrils: it is a geological embossed map. And, in spite of everything, this lunar world is familiar to me. I cannot say I RECOGNIZE the details. But the whole thing gives me an impression of something seen before which stupefies me: I slip quietly off to sleep.

Everything is both a trap and a display; the secret reality of the object is what the Other makes of it.

The Nausea has not left me and I don't believe it will leave me so soon; but I no longer have to bear it, it is no longer an illness or a passing fit: it is I.

"İnsan kendi kendine sormalı," diye düşündü Mösyö Darbédat, sorumluluk nerede başlar ya da daha çok nerede biter?

Obiectele n-ar trebui să înduioşeze, pentru că ele n-au viaţă. Te serveşti de ele, le pui la loc, trăieşti în mijlocul lor: sunt utile, nimic mai mult. Dar pe mine mă înduioşează, e insuportabil. Mi-e frică să intru în contact cu ele, ca şi cum ar fi nişte animale vii. Acum înţeleg: îmi amintesc mai bine ce-am simţit zilele trecute, pe malul mării, cînd ţineam în mînă piatra aceea. Era un fel de scîrbă dulceagă. Ce neplăcut era! Venea de la piatră, sunt sigur, trecea din piatră în mîinile mele. Da, asta e, chiar asta: un fel de greaţă în mîini.

Why do you keep maintaining your ideas are right if you can't prove them?

Estoy solo en medio de estas voces alegres y razonables. Todos estos tipos se pasan el tiempo explicándose, reconociendo con felicidad que comparten las mismas opiniones. ¡Qué importancia conceden, Dios mío, al hecho de pensar todos juntos las mismas cosas!.

Я свободен: в моей жизни нет больше никакого смысла – все то, ради чего я пробовал жить, рухнуло, а ничего другого я придумать не могу. Я еще молод, у меня достаточно сил, чтобы начать сначала. Но что начать? Только теперь я понял, как надеялся в разгар моих страхов, приступов тошноты, что меня спасет Анни. Мое прошлое умерло, маркиз де Рольбон умер, Анни вернулась только для того, чтобы отнять у меня всякую надежду. Я один на этой белой, окаймленной садами улице. Один – и свободен. Но эта свобода слегка напоминает смерть.

I have such a desire to sleep and am so much behind my sleep. A good night, one good night and all this nonsense will be swept away.

I’ve dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest. So gather me up, dear, fold me to your heart – and you’ll see how nice I can be.