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There is no rest for the humble except in despising the great, whose only thought of the people is inspired by self-interest or sadism.

Louis-Ferdinand Celine

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Louis-Ferdinand Celine
Age: 67 †
Born: 1894
Born: May 27
Died: 1961
Died: July 1
Military Personnel
Novelist
Obstetrician
Physician Writer
Playwright
Writer
Olean
New York
Dr. Louis Ferdinand Auguste Destouches
Louis Ferdinand Destouches
Lui-Ferdinand Selin
L.-F. Selin
L.-F. Céline
Louis-Ferdinand Celine
L.-F. Celine
Louis Ferdinand Céline
Rest
Interest
Thought
Despising
Self
Sadism
Great
Humble
People
Inspired
Except
Whose

More quotes by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

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Most people die at the last minute others twenty years beforehand, some even earlier. They are the wretched of the earth.
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Living, just by itself - what a dirge that is! Life is a classroom and Boredom's the usher, there all the time to spy on you.
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Well, you know... experience is a muffled lantern that throws light only on the bearer...it's incommunicable.
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Not much music left inside us for life to dance to. Our youth has gone to the ends of the earth to die in the silence of the truth. And where, I ask you, can a man escape to, when he hasn't enough madness left inside him? The truth is an endless death agony. The truth is death. You have to choose: death or lies. I've never been able to kill myself.
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I piss on you all from a considerable height.
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When it becomes really impossible to get away and sleep, then the will to live evaporates of its own accord.
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Chin up, Ferdinand, I kept saying to myself, to keep up my courage. What with being chucked out of everywhere, you're sure to find whatever it is that scares all those bastards so. It must be at the end of the night, and that's why they're so dead set against going to the end of the night.
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There are certain advantages in being cursed by all and sundry ... especially, it dispenses you with having to be nice to anybody ... there's nothing more emollient, stultifying, emasculating than wanting to be liked ... not nice! ... that does it, you're free!.
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Reason died in 1914, November 1914 ... after that everybody began to rave.
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The rich don't have to kill to eat. They employ people, as they call it. The rich don't do evil themselves. They pay. People do all they can to please them, and everybody's happy.
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Since life consists of madness spiked with lies, the farther you are from each other the more lies you can put into it and the happier you'll be. That's only natural and normal. Truth is inedible.
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All that makes a lunatic are the very ordinary ideas of mankind shut up inside a man's head.
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My trouble is insomnia. If I had always slept properly, I'd never have written a line.
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Lots of men are like that, their artistic leanings never go beyond a weakness for shapely thighs.
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The mind is satisfied with phrased, but not the body, the body is more fastidious, it wants muscles. A body always tells the truth, that's why it's usually depressing and disgusting to look at.
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I hadn't found out yet that mankind consists of two very different races, the rich and the poor. It took me ... and plenty of other people . . . twenty years and the war to learn to stick to my class and ask the price of things before touching them, let alone setting my heart on them.
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The plain truth, I may as well admit it, is that I've never been really right in the head.
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Poor people never, or hardly ever, ask for an explanation of all they have to put up with. They hate one another, and content themselves with that.
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When you stop to examine the way in which our words are formed and uttered, our sentences are hard-put to it to survive the disaster of their slobbery origins.
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So many vaginas, stomachs, cocks, snouts, and flies you don't know what to do with them ... shovelsfull! ... but hearts? ... very rare! in the last five hundred million years too many cocks and gastric tubes to count ... but hearts? ... on your fingers!.
Louis-Ferdinand Celine