Emile M. Cioran
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Intelligence flourishes only in the ages when belief withers.
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Jealousy - that jumble of secret worship and ostensible aversion.
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What surrounds us we endure better for giving it a name - and moving on.
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Music is the refuge of souls ulcerated by happiness.
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Woes and wonders of Power, that tonic hell, synthesis of poison and panacea.