Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes

Sartre said that hell is other people, I believe that most of them are

Jean Paul Sartre says in "No Exit" that hell is other people. Well, our task in life is to make it heaven. Or at least earth.

Hell is other people's fantasies.

Hell is other people.

It is difficult to live among people because silence is so difficult.

The thinking man always finds himself in a gigantic orphanage in which people are continually proving to him that he has no parents.

Although it is a gloomy view to suppose that life will die out, sometimes when I contemplate the things that people do with their lives I think it is almost a consolation

Most of us have love in our lives. Most of us love other people are are ourselves loved by others. But make no mistake: you are alone in the world. You were born alone, even if you were born conjoined. And you die alone, unable to bring a single person with you.

The romantic treatment of death asserts that people were made singular, made more interesting, by their illnesses.

One of the hardest things about being alive is being with other people.

We all die at the end, but does that nullify everything? Would most people rather say, "I wish I hadn't been born?" Once you're born you'll have to die, now is that funny or sad?

People still have existential anxiety. It just may not be expressed in Hebraic idiom.

There are people whose society I find delicious; but when I sit alone and think of them I shudder.

It's a hell of a thing to be born, and if you're born you're at least entitled to your own self.

I could believe only in the hell I was living in, a hell on earth, and it was man-made, not God-made.

Like many people, I have no religion, and I am just sitting in a small boat drifting with the tide. I live in the doubts of my duty.... I think there is dignity in this, just to go on working.... Today we stand naked, defenseless, and more alone than at any time in history. We are waiting for something, perhaps another miracle, perhaps the Martians. Who knows?

What's the meaning of life? Other people.

It’s just … everything. There are too many people. And I don’t fit in. I don’t know how to be. Nothing that I’m good at is the sort of thing that matters there. Being smart doesn’t matter—and being good with words. And when those things do matter, it’s only because people want something from me. Not because they want me.

Do you hate people? I don't hate them...I just feel better when they're not around.

People? People are chaotic quiddities living in one cave each. They pass the hours in amorous grudge and playback and thought experiment. At the campfire they put the usual fraction on exhibit, and listen to their own silent gibber about how they're feeling and how they're going down. We've been there. Death helps. Death gives us something to do. Because it's a fulltime job looking the other way.

The world did not have me in mind; it had no mind. It was a coincidental collection of things and people, of items, an I myself was one such item...the things in the world did not necessarily cause my overwhelming feelings; the feelings were inside me, beneath my skin, behind my ribs, withing my skull. They were even, to some extent, under my control.

I am naive enough to read incessantly because I cannot, on my own, get to know enough people profoundly enough.

If a dread of not being understood be hidden in the breasts of other young people to anything like the extent to which it used to be hidden in mine - which I consider probable, as I have no particular reason to suspect myself of having been a monstrosity - it is the key to many reservations.

I shouldn't leave the house or interact with people ever.