What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.

Live to the point of tears.

If nothing had any meaning, you would be right. But there is something that still has a meaning.

I felt as though I was partly unlearning what i had never learned and yet knew so well: I mean, how to live.

A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.

I have realized that we all have plague, and I have lost my peace. And today I am still trying to find it; still trying to understand all those others and not to be the enemy of anyone. I only know that one must do what one can to cease being plague-stricken, and that's the only way in which we can hope for some peace or, failing that, a decent death. This, and only this, can bring relief to men and, if not save them, at least do them the least harm possible and even, sometimes, a little good.