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Insomnia is a vertiginous lucidity that can convert paradise itself into a place of torture.

Emile M. Cioran

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Emile M. Cioran
Insomnia
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More quotes by Emile M. Cioran

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Knowledge, having irritated and stimulated our appetite for power, will lead us inexorably to our ruin.
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Nothing proves that we are more than nothing.
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Show me one thing here on earth which has begun well and not ended badly. The proudest palpitations are engulfed in a sewer, where they cease throbbing, as though having reached their natural term: this downfall constitutes the heart's drama and the negative meaning of history.
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No one can enjoy freedom without trembling.
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Normal people have nothing to forget.
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He who has never envied the vegetable has missed the human drama.
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Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.
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Does our ferocity not derive from the fact that our instincts are all too interested in other people? If we attended more to ourselves and became the center, the object of our murderous inclinations, the sum of our intolerances would diminish.
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I dream of a language whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.
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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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Life is possible only by the deficiencies of our imagination and memory.
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Life is merely a fracas on an unmapped terrain, and the universe a geometry stricken with epilepsy.
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Tolerance cannot seduce the young.
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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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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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How easy it is to be deep: all you have to do is let yourself sink into your own flaws.
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I have always struggled, with the sole intention of ceasing to struggle. Result: zero.
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There is no other world. Nor even this one. What, then, is there? The inner smile provoked in us by the patent nonexistence of both.
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We are afraid of the enormity of the possible.
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As art sinks into paralysis, artists multiply. This anomaly ceases to be one if we realize that art, on its way to exhaustion, has become both impossible and easy.
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