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Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses when we dream, the butcher's the poet's equal there.

Emile M. Cioran

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Emile M. Cioran
Dream
Butchers
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Genius
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Anyone
Butcher

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When you have understood that nothing is, that things do not even deserve the status of appearances, you no longer need to be saved, you are saved, and miserable forever.
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What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?
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Insomnia is a vertiginous lucidity that can convert paradise itself into a place of torture.
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Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.
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All that shimmers on the surface of the world, all that we call interesting, is the fruit of ignorance and inebriation.
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What is pity but the vice of kindness.
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Society is not a disease, it is a disaster. What a stupid miracle that one can live in it.
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Since all life is futility, then the decision to exist must be the most irrational of all.
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Where are my sensations? They have melted into... me, and what is this me, this self, but the sum of these evaporated sensations?
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By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing.
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Truths begin by a conflict with the police - and end by calling them in.
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Is it possible that existence is our exile and nothingness our home?
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One does not inhabit a country one inhabits a language. That is our country, our fatherland - and no other.
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If we had the courage to confront the doubts we timidly conceive about ourselves, none of us would utter an 'I' without shame.
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No matter which way we go, it is no better than any other. It is all the same whether you achieve something or not, have faith or not, just as it is all the same whether you cry or remain silent.
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The universal view melts things into a blur.
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Music is the refuge of souls ulcerated by happiness.
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An individual dies ... when, instead of taking risks and hurling himself toward being, he cowers within, and takes refuge there.
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Utopia is the grotesque en rose, the need to associate happiness - that is, the improbable - with becoming, and to coerce an optimistic, aerial vision to the point where it rejoins its own source: the very cynicism it sought to combat. In short, a monstrous fantasy.
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Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.
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