“No excuses ever, for anyone; that is my principle at the outset. I deny the good intention, the respectable mistake, the indiscretion, the extenuating circumstance. With me there is no giving of absolution or blessing. ”

“God is not needed to create guilt or to punish. Our fellow men suffice, aided by ourselves. You were speaking of the Last Judgement. Allow me to laugh respectfully. I shall wait for it resolutely, for I have known what is worse, the judgement of men. For them, no extenuating circumstances; even the good intention is ascribed to crime. Have you at least heard of the spitting cell, which a nation recently thought up to prove itself the greatest on earth? A walled-up box in which the prisoner can stand without moving. The solid door that locks him in the cement shell stops at chin level. Hence only his face is visible, and every passing jailer spits copiously on it. The prisoner, wedged into his cell, cannot wipe his face, though he is allowed, it is true. to close his eyes. Well, that, mon cher, is a human invention. They didn't need God for that little masterpiece.”

“What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms. What I touch, what resists me--that is what I understand. And these two certainties--my appetite for the absolute and for unity and the impossibility of reducing this world to a rational and reasonable principle--I also know that I cannot reconcile them. What other truth can I admit without lying, without bringing in a hope which I lack and which means nothing within the limits of my condition?”

“My dear friend, we mustn't give them even the slightest excuse to judge us! Otherwise, we end up in pieces.”

“You make the mistake of thinking you have to choose, that you have to do what you want, that there are conditions for happiness. What matters—all that matters, really—is the will to happiness, a kind of enormous, ever-present consciousness. The rest—women, art, success—is nothing but excuses. A canvas waiting for our embroideries.”

“If absolute truth belongs to anyone in this world, it certainly does not belong to the man or party that claims to possess it.”

“What I know, what is certain, what I cannot deny,what I cannot reject—this is what counts. I can negate everythingof that part of me that lives on vague nostalgias, except this desirefor unity, this longing to solve, this need for clarity and cohesion. Ican refute everything in this world surrounding me that offends orenraptures me, except this chaos, this sovereign chance and thisdivine equivalence which springs from anarchy. I don’t knowwhether this world has a meaning that transcends it. But I knowthat I do not know that meaning and that it is impossible for mejust now to know it. What can a meaning outside my conditionmean to me? I can understand only in human terms. What I touch,what resists me—that is what I understand. And these twocertainties—my appetite for the absolute and for unity and theimpossibility of reducing this world to a rational and reasonableprinciple—I also know that I cannot reconcile them. What othertruth can I admit without lying, without bringing in a hope I lackand which means nothing within the limits of my condition?”