The fear of your own solitude, of its vast surface and its infinity… Remorse is the voice of solitude. And what does this whispering voice say? Everything in us that is not human anymore. — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
What does the future, that half of time, matter to the man who is infatuated with eternity? — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
Progress is the injustice each generation commits with regard to its predecessors. — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
To defy heredity is to defy billions of years, to defy the first cell — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
A people represents not so much an aggregate of ideas and theories as of obsessions. — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
"The Holy Ghost," Luther instructs us, "is not a skeptic." Not everyone can be, and that is really too bad. — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
Every word affords me pain. Yet how sweet it would be if I could hear what the flowers have to say about death! — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
Woes and wonders of Power, that tonic hell, synthesis of poison and panacea. — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
If each of us were to confess his most secret desire, the one that inspires all his plans, all his actions, he would say:… — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed… — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
Let us not be needlessly bitter: certain failures are sometimes fruitful. — Emile M. Cioran Copy Share Image
