Death is too exact; it has all the reasons on its side. Mysterious for our instincts, it takes shape, to our… — Emil Cioran
Death is too exact; it has all the reasons on its side. Mysterious for our instincts, it takes shape, to our reflection, limpid, without glamor, and without the false lures of the unknown. By dint of accumulating non-mysteries and monopolizing non-meanings, life inspires more dread than death: it is life which is the Great Unknown.
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So long as man is protected by madness he functions and flourishes, but when he frees himself from the fruitful tyranny of fixed ideas, he is lost, ruined.
I find in myself as much evil as in anyone, but detesting action — mother of all vices — I am the cause of no one's suffering.
Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.
