The cruel man instinctively understands that humanism is the senile daydream of winded nations who haven’t enough strength left to come to terms with the idea of universal hatred, who cannot bear to think history condemned to repeating the tragedy of Cain and Abel.
The cruel man believes the most contemptible of men is he who needs the respect of others in order to respect himself.
The cruel man puts us on our guard: girls are dangerous playthings. Even the sweetest leave a bitter aftertaste.
The cruel man concedes a single merit to literature: to raise the reader toward the heights of lucidity, only to hurl him into the void.
The cruel man detests memories, especially good ones.
The cruel man recommends suicide to all when they no longer find favor in their own eyes.
The cruel man aggravates his wound.
The cruel man deems it shameful to cling to life. The best thing to do upon finding oneself alive is to bow out.
The cruel man knows he will not overcome his own suffering by trying to ease that of others. Thus he pays but vague attention to it.
The cruel man always feigns the feelings he gives the illusion of actually experiencing, and never experiences what he manages to feign.
The cruel man abhors the cynic’s every pose, starting with his own.
Roland Jaccard, Cioran et compagnie (Presses Universitaires de France, 2005)
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