Jean-Paul Sartre (June 21, – April 15, ) was a French philosopher, playwright, novelist, and literary critic. His most famous writings. Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre, normally known simply as Jean-Paul Sartre, was a French existentialist philosopher and pioneer, dramatist and screenwriter. Jean-Paul Sartre was a pioneering existentialist, intellectual and writer who devoted himself to leftist causes. Learn more at


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For the moment, the jazz is playing; there is no melody, just notes, a myriad of tiny tremors. The notes know no rest, an inflexible order jean paul sartre birth to them then destroys them, without ever leaving them the chance to recuperate and jean paul sartre for themselves I would like to hold them back, but I know that, if I succeeded in stopping one, there would only remain in my hand a corrupt and languishing sound.

I must accept their death; I must even want that death: I know of few more bitter or intense impressions.

Jean paul sartre that I know about my life, it seems, I have learned in books. Absurd, irreducible; nothing — not even a profound and secret delirium of nature — could explain it.

Obviously I did not know everything, I had not jean paul sartre the seeds sprout, or the tree grow. But faced with this great wrinkled paw, neither ignorance nor knowledge was important: A circle is not absurd, jean paul sartre is clearly explained by the rotation of a straight segment around one of its extremities.

But neither does a circle exist.


This root, on the other hand, existed in such a way that I could not explain it. Reflections on a chestnut tree root.


How can I, who was not able to retain my own past, hope to save that of another? I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.

Jean paul sartre know that I shall never again meet anything or anybody who will inspire me with passion.

Jean-Paul Sartre - Wikipedia

You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a jean paul sartre, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: I know I'll never jump again.

I grasp at each second, trying to suck it dry: By turning my head slightly, I could see something out of the corner of my eye: Now it was resting on its back, relaxed, soft and sensual, it had the indolent nudity of a woman sunning herself after bathing. A jean paul sartre hairy object approached it, hesitant.

It was a thick finger, yellowed by tobacco; inside this hand it had all the grossness of a male sex organ.

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