Dead of night. No one, nothing but the society of the moments. Each pretends to keep us company, then escapes — desertion after desertion. - Emil Cioran

If someone incessantly drops the word "life," you know he's a sick man.

Creation is in fact a fault, man's famous sin thereby appearing as a minor version of a much graver one. What are we guilty of, except of having followed, more or less slavishly, the Creator's example? Easy to recognize in ourselves the fatality which was His: not for nothing have we issued from the hands of a wicked and woebegone god, a god accursed.

The poor, by thinking unceasingly of money, reach the point of losing the spiritual advantages of non-possession, thereby sinking as low as the rich.