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The mind is the result of the torments the flesh undergoes or inflicts upon itself.

Emile M. Cioran

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Emile M. Cioran
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More quotes by Emile M. Cioran

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The truly solitary being is not the man who is abandoned by men, but the man who suffers in their midst, who drags his desert through the marketplace and deploys his talents as a smiling leper, a mountebank of the irreparable.
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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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There was a time when time did not yet exist. … The rejection of birth is nothing but the nostalgia for this time before time.
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Our first intuitions are the true ones.
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Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.
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Skepticism is the sadism of embittered souls.
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Tolerance - the function of an extinguished ardor - tolerance cannot seduce the young.
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To defy heredity is to defy billions of years, to defy the first cell
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I have always lived with the awareness of the impossibility of living. And what has made existence endurable to me is my curiosity as to how I would get from one minute, one day, one year to the next.
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Great persecutors are recruited among martyrs whose heads haven't been cut off.
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All philosophers should end their days at Pythia's feet. There is only one philosophy, that of unique moments.
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If you lack the power to demoralize yourself along with the age, to go as low and as far, do not complain of being misunderstood by it.
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To hope is to contradict the future.
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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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Even when nothing happens, everything seems too much for me. What can be said, then, in the presence of an event, any event?
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No one can enjoy freedom without trembling.
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If you're unlucky enough not to have alcoholic parents, it takes you a whole lifetime of intoxication to overcome the dead weight of their virtues.
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Everything is pathology, except for indifference.
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Nothing proves that we are more than nothing.
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Death makes no sense except to people who have passionately loved life. How can one die without having something to part from? Detachment is a negation of both life and death. Whoever has overcome his fear of death has also triumphed over life. For life is nothing but another word for this fear.
Emile M. Cioran