Quotes About Sartre

We knew of Sartre and we dressed like the French existentialists. Our philosophy then, and remember we were only little kids, was more in following their looks than their thoughts. We were going around looking moody.

Sartre distinguished between rebels and revolutionaries. The rebel, he says, secretly quite wants the world and the system to remain as it is. Its permanence, after all, is the guarantee of his continuing ability to rebel. The revolutionary, in contrast, really wishes to overthrow and replace existing conditions. The second enterprise is obviously no laughing matter.

No. Tommy turned and headed toward the door. As he reached it he turned and said, I'm not fucked. The Sartre reader looked up from his book and said, We all are. We all are.

the given language is power because it compels me to use already formulated stereotypes, including words themselves, and that it is structured so fatally that, slaves inside it, we cannot free ourselves outside it, because outside the given language there is nothing. How can we escape what Barthes calls, Sartre-like, this huis clos ? By cheating. You can cheat the given language. This dishonest and healthy and liberating trick is called literature.

Shame gives me the ability to split myself into the first and third person. To recognize myself, as Sartre writes, "as the Other sees me.

Sartre'?n "Varolu? özden önce gelir" deyi?i insanlar?n, mesela bir elbise ask?s?n?n ki gibi önceden belirlenmi? bir özü bulunmad??? anlam?na gelir. Yani bizler belirlenmemi?izdir ve kendimizi yeniden yaratmakta özgürüzdür.

It seemed to me that a solution must be found. Here, my natural optimism was to my advantage. For when I read Sartre or Camus or Graham Greene, I experienced a temperamental rejection of their pessimism. I suspected that their ultimate picture might be distorted by a certain self-pity or lack of discipline—or, in the case of Greene, by a certain congenital lack of vitality. I suspected that if the problem left them defeated, it was because they had not attacked it hard enough.

Not everyone in Paris was awed by Sartre's wartime politics. "Some wits," as one historian puts it, "remark[ed] later that Sartre joined the resistance on the same day as the Paris police." In other words: ten days before the liberation.

When I was young, I was a passionate reader of Sartre. I've read the American novelists, in particular the lost generation - Faulkner, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dos Passos - especially Faulkner. Of the authors I read when I was young, he is one of the few who still means a lot to me.

Jean-Paul Sartre, the existentialist philosopher who celebrated the anguish of decision as a hallmark of responsibility, has no place in Silicon Valley.

La pasividad de una cosa espacio temporal se constituye a partir de su relatividad existencial.Una existencia relativa no puede ser más que pasiva puesto que la menor actividad la liberaria de lo relativo y lo constituiría en lo absoluto.

It answers the question that was tormenting you: my love, you are not 'one thing in my life' - not even the most important - because my life no longer belongs to me because...you are always me.

As for me, I am mean: that means that I need the suffering of others to exist. A flame. A flame in their hearts. When I am all alone, I am extinguished.

Nothingness lies coiled in the heart of being - like a worm.

People. You must love people. Men are admirable. I want to vomit—and suddenly, there it is: the Nausea

It is disgusting -- Why must we have bodies?

emotion is first of all and in principle an accident

I must be without remorse or regrets as I am without excuse; for from the instant of my upsurge into being, I carry the weight of the world by myself alone without anything or any person being able to lighten it.

Will you do me the honour of lunching with me on Wednesday?" "With pleasure." I had as much desire to eat with him as I had to hang myself.

I realized that there was no half-way house between non-existence and this flaunting abundance. If you existed, you had to exist all the way, as far as mouldiness, bloatedness, obscenity were concerned.

In irony a man annihilates what he posits within one and the same act; he leads us to believe in order not to be believed; he affirms to deny and denies to affirm; he creatives a positive object but it has no being other than its nothingness.

The truth is that I can't put down my pen: I think I'm going to have the Nausea and I feel as though I'm delaying it while writing. So I write whatever comes into my mind.

I have never before had such a strong feeling that I was devoid of secret dimensions, confined within the limits of my body, from which airy thoughts float up like bubbles. I build memories with my present self. I am cast out, forsaken in the present: I vainly try to rejoin the past: I cannot escape.

His blue cotton shirt stands out joyfully against a chocolate-coloured wall. That too brings on the Nausea. The Nausea is not inside me: I feel it OUT THERE in the wall, in the suspenders, everywhere around me. It makes itself one with the café, I am the one who is within IT.