The existentialist says at once that man is anguish.
There’s no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is- other people!
To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out- but you can’t prevent your being there.
We only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.
Everything has been figured out, except how to live.
Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal.
Man is not the sum of what he has already, but rather the sum of what he does not yet have, of what he could have.