what summits would I not reach if my own life made the subject of the melody.
Neither sad nor gay is the desert-a boundless waste of sand under a burning waste of sky.
Siempre muere uno demasiado pronto…o demasiado tarde.
But you looked much more like a fellow who had just realised that he has been living on ideas that don’t pay.
To know what life is worth you have to risk it once in a while.
The existentialist, on the contrary, finds it extremely embarrassing that God does not exist, for there disappears with Him all possibility of finding values in an intelligible heaven. There can no longer be any good a priori, since there is no infinite and perfect consciousness to think it. It is nowhere written that “the good
Concha would cry when she found out I was dead, she should have no taste for life for months afterward. But I was still the one who was going to die. I thought of her soft, beautiful eyes. when she looked at me something passed her to me. But I knew it was over: if she looked at me now the look would stay in her eyes, it wouldn’t reach me. I was alone
With older people, it’s quite different. They’re reliable, they show you what to do, and there’s solidity in their affection.
My thought is me: that’s why I can’t stop. I exist because I think… and I can’t stop myself from thinking. At this very moment – it’s frightful – if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing. I am the one who pulls myself from the nothingness to which I aspire.
J’ai commencé ma vie comme je la finirai sans doute : au milieu des livres.