تو کیستی که به من امر می‌کنی؟ و شما چه احتیاجی به شنیدن اوامر او دارید؟ هیچ‌کس حق ندارد به شما امر کند مگر روسایی که خودتان انتخاب کرده‌اید.
Know very well that I don’t want to do anything: to do something is to create existence—and there’s quite enough existence as it is.
A wise person can want nothing better from life than to pay back the wrong that has been done him.
Time gnaws and wears away; it separates; it flies. And by virtue of separation--by separating man from his pain or from the object of his pain--time cures.
This instant which I cannot leave, which locks me in and limits me on every side, this instant I am made of will be no more than a confused dream.
This feeling of adventure definitely does not come from events: I have proved it. It's rather the way in which the moments are linked together. I think this is what happens: you suddenly feel that tim...
Thing are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea.
There’s the story of a person who does this, does that, but it isn’t I, I have nothing in common with him. He travels through countries I know no more about than if I had never been there. Sometimes,...
The truth is that I can’t put down my pen: I think I’m going to have the Nausea and I feel as though I’m delaying it while writing. So I write whatever comes into my mind.
The true sea is cold and black, full of animals...
The recruit who reports for active duty at the beginning of the war can in some instances be afraid of death, but more often he is 'afraid of being afraid'; that is, he is filled with anguish before h...
The appearance of the other in the world corresponds therefore to a congealed sliding of the whole universe.
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.
THE HOLE The hole is something which longs to be filled. The small child is drawn as if by magic to holes. He can not restrain himself from putting in his finger or his whole arm. He makes a symbolic...
It’s strange. I felt less lonely when I didn’t know you.
I must wash myself clean with abstract thoughts, transparent as water.
I have no taste for work any longer, I can do nothing more except wait for night.530: Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea.
I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my throat, it caress...
ليس هناك مستعمرون صالحون وأخرون طالحون، بل هناك مستعمرون فحسب
انني لم أُخلق لأعيش ،ولست أعرف ما هي الحياة ،وليس بي حاجة لأعرف ذلكإنما أنا شيء فائض عن الحياة، وليس لي من مكان