Quotes from Emil Cioran

Am tr?it întotdeauna cu conÅŸtiinÅ£a neputinÅ£ei de a tr?i. Åži ceea ce mi-a f?cut existenÅ£a suportabil? e curiozitatea de a vedea cum aveam s? trec de la un minut, de la o zi, de la un an la altul.

If only we could reach back before the concept, could write on a level with the senses, record the infinitesimal variations of what we touch, do what a reptile would do if it were to set about writing!

The pessimist has to invent new reasons to exist every day: he is a victim of the "meaning" of life.

If we consider closely our so-called generous actions, there is none which, from some aspect, is not blameworthy an even harmful, so that we come to regret having performed it—so that we must choose, finally, between abstention and remorse.

Only superficial minds approach an idea with delicacy.

Exist? o întreag? gam? a melancoliei: începe prin surâs ÅŸi peisaj ÅŸi sfârÅŸeÅŸte în dang?t de clopot spart în suflet. De aici, gustul diferit al lacrimilor.

Cerul senin ne oblig? la mai multe întrist?ri decât cel cenuÈ™iu, c?ci ne pune în faÈ›a prea multor speranÈ›e la care n-avem curajul pe când ultimul ne îngroap? f?r? speranÈ›e.

Once we appeal to our most intimate selves, once we begin to labor and to produce, we lay claim to gifts, we become unconscious of our own gaps. No one is in a position to admit that what comes out of his own depths might be worthless. "Self-knowledge"? A contradiction in terms.

Mi s-a facut inima ca ceara si se topeste înlauntrul meu." (Psalm XXII)

I would like to forget everything, to forget myself and to forget the world.

Prostia este o suferinta nedureroasa a inteligentei.

A free man is one who has discerned the inanity of all points of view; a liberated man is one who has drawn the consequences of such discernment.

What will be the physiognomy of painting, of poetry, of music, in a hundred years? No one can tell. As after the fall of Athens, of Rome, a long pause will intervene, caused by the exhaustion of consciousness itself. Humanity, to rejoin the past, must invent a second naiveté, without which the arts can never begin again.

Dac? mi-aÅŸ asculta întâia pornire, toat? ziua aÅŸ scrie scrisori cu injurii ÅŸi scrisori de adio.

Unlike Job, I have not cursed the day I was born; all the other days, on the contrary, I have covered with my anathemas. …

Cine sa te vindece de tine? O tînara fata? Dar cine-i darnic pîna la jertfa, ca sa-ti preia melancolia? Ce suflet pur, dornic de vis si nefericire, sa se-ncumete la o povara ce n-o presimte?

Extraordinary and null—these two adjectives apply to the sexual act, and, consequently, to everything resulting from it, to life first of all.

Paradise was unendurable, otherwise the first man would have adapted to it, this world is no less so, since here we regret paradise or anticipate another one. What do do? where to go? Do nothing and go nowhere, easy enough.

As the years accumulate, we form an increasingly somber image of the future. Is this only to console ourselves for being excluded from it? Yes in appearance, no in fact, for the future has always been hideous, man being able to remedy his evils only by aggravating them, so that in each epoch existence, is much more tolerable before the solution is found to the difficulties of the moment.

During the long nights in the caves, how many Hamlets must have murmured their endless monologues—for it is likely that the apogee of metaphysical torment is to be located well before that universal insipidity which followed the advent of Philosophy.

S? concepi o dragoste mai cast? decât o prim?var? care, mâhnit? de curvia florilor, ar plânge lâng? r?d?cinile acestora...

De s-ar înfuria marile, sa-si sparga valurile de inima omeneasca!

Tot ce nu-i fericire este un minus de iubire.

The state of health is a state of nonsensation, even nonreality. As soon as we cease to suffer, we cease to exist.