Antoine de Saint-Exupery Quotes

Life has become the ideology of its own absence.

I think we are just insects, we live a bit and then die and that’s the lot. There’s no mercy in things. There’s not even a Great Beyond. There’s nothing.

We're all making castles in the sand, wonderful tapestries, an exquisite corpse. But is it meaningful? No. It's dogs barking. It doesn't mean anything beyond our yelping, at the pain of being alive.

One must either take an interest in the human situation or else parade before the void.

Regarding life, the wisest men of all ages have judged alike: it is worthless.

An intimate core of my being recognizes that there is nothing in me that can go on: there is no spark; there is no infestation of vaporous miasma that has the capacity to continue, and there is nothing in me that wishes to continue. This moment is, for me, all that there is, and I'm willing to accept it. I'm a worm; I have no soul.

Everything means nothing that is the only truth.

Life itself was only futility, vain words, a squabble of cap and bells.

Every time I wake, I understand how easy it is to be nothing.

The war between being and nothingness is the underlying illness of the twentieth century. Boredom slays more of existence than war.

Things are only mannequins and even the great world-historical events are only costumes beneath which they exchange glances with nothingness.

Everything in the world is gloriously meaningless.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

There is darkness without and when I die there will be darkness within. There is no splendor, nor vastness anywhere; only triviality for a moment and then nothing.

Oh, the cares of men! how much emptiness there is in human concerns!

What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?

I've lived so little that I tend to imagine I'm not going to die; it seems improbable that human existence can be reduced to so little; one imagines, in spite of oneself, that sooner or later something is bound to happen. A big mistake. A life can just as well be both empty and short. The days slip by indifferently, leaving neither trace nor memory; and then all of a sudden they stop.

All is vanity, look you; and so the preacher is vanity too.

Everything depends on this: a fathomless sinking into a fathomless nothingness.

When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we're nothing.

No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

Life may be not only meaningless but absurd.

Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.

Life and death have been lacking in my life.

Death threatens our speech with futility because death is not just a biological event - it is a reality we fear may rob our living of any significance.