It was suicide. Others killed themselves with poison or with a revolver. I killed myself with minutes and hours. - Henri Barbusse

Two sensuous lovers are not two friends. Much rather are they two enemies, closely attached to each other. I know it, I know it! There are perfect couples, no doubt — perfection always exists somewhere — but I mean us others, all of us, the ordinary people! I know! — the human being's real quality, the delicate lights and shadows of human dreams, the sweet and complicated mystery of personalities, sensuous lovers deride them, both of them! They are two egoists, falling fiercely on each other. Together they sacrifice themselves, utterly in a flash of pleasure.

It is an important experience to be in the presence of a thinking creature who is crying. A weak, broken creature who is crying creates the same impression as an omnipotent god whom one implores; for in its weakness and defeat it rises above the human condition.

We do not die. Each human being is alone in the world. It seems absurd, contradictory to say this, and yet it is so. But there are many human beings like me. No, we cannot say that. In saying that, we set ourselves outside the truth in a kind of abstraction. All we can say is: I am alone. And that is why we do not die.