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Old age, after all, is merely the punishment for having lived.

Emile M. Cioran

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Emile M. Cioran
Merely
Lived
Age
Punishment

More quotes by Emile M. Cioran

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Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors.
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Every profound dissatisfaction is of a religious nature: our failures derive from our incapacity to conceive of paradise and to aspire to it, as our discomforts from the fragility of our relations with the absolute.
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Transmitting one's flaws [through procreation] to someone else is a crime. I could never consent to give life to someone who would inherent my ailments.
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Write books only if you are going to say in them the things you would never dare confide to anyone.
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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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Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.
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Better to be an animal than a man, an insect than an animal, a plant than an insect, and so on. Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy.
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Reality is a creation of our excesses.
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I lost my sleep, and this is the greatest tragedy that can befall someone. It is much worse than sitting in prison.
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We are all deep in a hell each moment of which is a miracle.
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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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To think is to take a cunning revenge in which we camouflage our baseness and conceal our lower instincts.
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What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!
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Is it possible that existence is our exile and nothingness our home?
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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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No one can enjoy freedom without trembling.
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Skepticism is the elegance of anxiety.
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Paradise was unendurable, otherwise the first man would have adapted to it this world is no less so, since here we regret paradise or anticipate another one. What to do? Where to go? Do nothing and go nowhere, easy enough.
Emile M. Cioran
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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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The universal view melts things into a blur.
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