Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.
No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world.
No cause justifies the deaths of innocent people.[Aucune cause ne justifie la mort de l’innocent.]
Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.
Life is not a paragraph, and death is no parenthesis.
Knowing that certain nights whose sweetness lingers will keep returning to the earth and sea after we are gone, yes, this helps us die.[Certaines nuits dont la douceur se prolonge, oui, cela aide à mourir de savoir qu’elles reviendront après nous sur la terre et la mer.]
It takes two people to make you, and one people to die. That’s how the world is going to end.
It matters little that you suffer, so long as you feel alive with a sense of the close bond that connects all living things, so long as love does not die!
It isn’t hard to let people die when their deaths give life to something else.
In the midst of life, we are in death.
If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn’t be filled?
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
