Sometimes I wonder if suicides aren't in fact sad guardians of the meaning of life.

The tragedy of modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less.

There are times when we must sink to the bottom of our misery to understand truth, just as we must descend to the bottom of a well to see the stars in broad daylight.

When a truth is not given complete freedom, freedom is not complete.

Isn't it the moment of most profound doubt that gives birth to new certainties? Perhaps hopelessness is the very soil that nourishes human hope; perhaps one could never find sense in life without first experiencing its absurdity.

Hope is a feeling that life and work have meaning. You either have it or you don't, regardless of the state of the world that surrounds you.

The deeper the experience of an absence of meaning - in other words, of absurdity - the more energetically meaning is sought.

I really do inhabit a system in which words are capable of shaking the entire structure of government, where words can prove mightier than ten military divisions.

Work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed.