Quotes from Jean-Paul Sartre

kutsal bir sektör laikleÅŸtirildikçe, tanr? yeniden göÄŸe yükselmeye haz?rd?r.

Something has happened to me, I can't doubt it anymore. It came as an illness does, not like an ordinary certainty, not like anything evident. It came cunningly, little by little; I felt a little strange, a little put out, that's all. Once established it never moved, it stayed quiet, and i was able to persuade myself that nothing was the matter with me, that it was a false alarm. And now, it's blossoming.

I get up. I move through this pale light; I see it change beneath my hands and on the sleeves of my coat: I cannot describe how much it disgusts me.

Never were we freer than under the German Occupation.

This is what I mean when I say that man is condemned to be free: condemned, because he did not create himself, yet nonetheless free, because once cast into the world, he is responsible for everything that he does.

Can you justify your existence then?

So I was a poodle of the future; I made prophecies.

It was true, I had always realized it—I hadn't any "right" to exist at all. I had appeared by chance, I existed like a stone, a plant, a microbe. I could feel nothing to myself but an inconsequential buzzing. I was thinking…that here we are eating and drinking, to preserve our precious existence, and that there's nothing, nothing, absolutely no reason for existing.

I took everything as seriously as if I were immortal.

Moi, je ne tiens pas les rancunes et j'avoue tout, complaisamment : pour l'autocritique, je suis doué, à la condition qu'on ne prétende pas me l'imposer.

Existentialism's first move is to make every man aware of what he is and to make the full responsibility of his existence rest on him.

Not only is man what he conceives himself to be, but he is also only what he wills himself to be after this thrust toward existence. Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself. Such

Madame Picard believed that a child should be allowed to read anything: 'A book never does any harm if it is well written.' While she was there, I had once asked permission to read Madame Bovary and my mother, in an oversweet voice, had said: 'But if my darling reads books like that at his age, what will he do when he grows up?' 'I shall live them!' This reply had met with the most complete and lasting success.

sólo el perro o el caballo podrían emitir un juicio de conjunto sobre el hombre y declarar que el hombre es asombroso, lo que ellos no se preocupan de hacer, por lo menos que yo sepa. Pero no se puede admitir que un hombre pueda formular un juicio sobre el hombre.

Man is free rather than man is freedom.

I am not your king, impudent larva? Who then has created you? Orestes: You. But you should not have created me free.

Creo que soy yo quien ha cambiado; es la solución más simple. También la más desagradable. Pero debo reconocer que estoy sujeto a estas súbitas transformaciones. Lo que ocurre es que rara vez pienso, entonces, sin darme cuenta, se acumula en mí una multitud de pequeñas metamorfosis, y un buen día se produce una verdadera revolución. Es lo que ha dado a mi vida este aspecto desconcertante, incoherente.

There are two ways to go to the gas chamber, free and not free.

There's the story of a person who does this, does that, but it isn't I, I have nothing in common with him. He travels through countries I know no more about than if I had never been there. Sometimes, in my story, it happens that I pronounce these fine names you read in atlases, Aranjuez or Canterbury. New images are born in me, images such as people create from books who have never travelled. My words are dreams, that is all.

Love was not something to be felt, not a particular emotion, nor yet a particular shade of feeling, it was much more like a lowering curse on the horizon, a precursor of disaster.

It is an abstract change without object. Am I the one who has changed? (...) I must finally realize that I am subject to these sudden transformations. The thing is that I rarely think; a crowd of small metamorphoses accumulate in me without my noticing it, and then, one fine day, a veritable revolution takes place. This is what has given my life such a jerky, incoherent aspect.

He takes a few dazed steps, the waiters turn out the lights and he slips into unconsciousness: when this man is lonely he sleeps.

Dans les églises, à la clarté des cierges, un homme boit du vin devant des femmes à genoux.

When she is alone in the rooms I hear her humming to keep herself from thinking.