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The amount of chiaroscuro an idea harbors is the only index of its profundity.

Emile M. Cioran

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Emile M. Cioran
Ideas
Chiaroscuro
Profundity
Index
Harbors
Amount
Idea

More quotes by Emile M. Cioran

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To live... in any sense of the word... is to reject others to accept them, one must renounce, do oneself violence.
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Far from diminishing the appetite for power, suffering exasperates it.
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Basis of society: anonymous sweat.
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What I know at sixty, I knew as well at twenty. Forty years of a long, superfluous, labor of verification.
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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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Democracy: a festival of mediocrity.
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Self-conscious rejection of the absolute is the best way to resist God thus illusion, the substance of life, is saved.
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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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The fear of being deceived is the vulgar version of the quest for Truth.
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A people represents not so much an aggregate of ideas and theories as of obsessions.
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Music is the refuge of souls ulcerated by happiness.
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True contact between beings is established only by mute presence, by apparent non-communication, by that mysterious and wordless exchange which resembles inward prayer.
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I'm simply an accident. Why take it all so seriously?
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What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!
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A man who fears ridicule will never go far, for good or ill: he remains on this side of this talents, and even if he has genius, he is doomed to mediocrity.
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The literary man? An indiscreet man, who devaluates his miseries, divulges them, tells them like so many beads: immodesty-the sideshow of second thoughts-is his rule he offers himself.
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What do you do from morning to night? I endure myself.
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I do not forgive myself for being born. It is as if creeping into this world, I had profaned a mystery, betrayed some momentous pledge, committed a fault of nameless gravity.
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One doesn't live in a country, one lives in a language.
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By what aberration has suicide, the only truly normal action, become the attribute of the flawed?
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