I am illuminated within by a diminishing light.

He is always becoming, and if it were not for the contingency of death, he would never end.

The Nausea has not left me and I don't believe it will leave me so soon; but I no longer have to bear it, it is no longer an illness or a passing fit: it is I.

We have so much difficulty imagining nothingness.

I'm going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.

Thirdly, the existent individual is impassioned, impassioned with a passionate thought; he is inspired; he is a kind of incarnation of the infinite in the finite. This passion which animates the existent (and this brings us to the fourth characteristic) is what Kierkegaard calls the passion of freedom.

Better a good journalist than a poor assassin.