We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.
We are born with faculties and powers capable almost of any thing, such at least as would carry us farther than can easily be imagined: but it is only the exercise of those powers, which gives us ability and skill in any thing, and leads us towards perfection.
We are all born in the same way but we all die in different ways.
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.[Elles accouchent à cheval sur une tombe, le jour brille un instant, puis c’est la nuit à nouveau.]
The death of dogma is the birth of morality.
The act of birth is the source and prototype of the affect of anxiety.[Der Geburtsakt die Quelle und das Vorbild des Angstaffektes ist.]
Our body begins to destroy itself from the moment it is born. We are fragile. We’re creatures of passage. All that is left of us are our actions, the good or the evil we do to our fellow humans.
One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.
One is not born, but becomes, a genius.
Men are born equal but they are also born different.
Man is born as a freak of nature, being within nature and yet transcending it. He has to find principles of action and decision-making which replace the principles of instincts.
Man always dies before he is fully born.
