Home: it was a phrase one used to mean four walls behind which one slept. There had never been a home.
Everyone knew vice was bad for any real revolutionary climate.
Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
I am not asleep, nor am I awake, and in my reverie things I have seen mingle with things I have read or heard, like rivers of different colour or clarity meeting.
Fear has always seemed to me to run a course, and at its climax the body and perhaps the spirit defend themselves by drawing on some new and fresh source of strength.
There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.
I know I am making the choice most dangerous to an artist in valuing life above art.
Don't we all write about love? When men do it, it's a political comment. When women do it, it's just a love story.
Thanks to this education, I have to experience a new sensation in order to appreciate new pain.
For many years I have known that you had escaped this realization of our intrinsic weakness, of our humanity, but I knew you must come to it, for we all do.
The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an evil face in the window of a reputable house.
If you think of the dark as a black park and the moon as a bounced ball, then there’s nothing to be frightened of at all.
On every side was the silence, pressing upon them with atangible presence. It affected their minds as the many atmospheres ofdeep water affect the body of the diver.
I had found my religion: nothing seemed more important to me than a book. I saw the library as a temple.
I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom but I wish any wise man would teach me what use to make of it now that I have it.
Church is full of people with plenty to say and nothing to do. You'd think some of them would help us instead of talk about us, but I guess it's easier to say you love Jesus and harder to act like him.
How curious and interesting is the parallel — as far as poverty of biographical details is concerned — between Satan and Shakespeare.
Death – mysterious, untraceable death, death swift and terrible, death full of pain and indignity – would be released upon this city, and go hither and thither seeking his victims.
For in the end, it is all about memory, its sources and its magnitude, and of course, its consequences.
My dear Gerald, women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.
Some people build fences to keep people out...and other people build fences to keep people in.
I miss God. I miss the company of someone utterly loyal. I still don’t think of God as my betrayer. The servants of God, yes, but servants by their very nature betray.
I am growing up. I am losing my illusions perhaps to acquire new ones.
When I was lonely, confused and angry, the ocean was always there, a vast salty poultice sucking the poison from my system.
The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed.
All knowledge, we find, must be built up upon our instinctive beliefs, and if these are rejected, nothing is left.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief.
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind. The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older.
We don't live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other. And I tell you that the time will soon come when, if men will not learn that lesson, then they will be taught it in fire and blood and anguish.
The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect.
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny Reveals himself a liar and a fool; What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
Nothing save witnessing the strewn vista of the stars could convince a man that timelessness and God existed.
All people cover the window of the soul with a mask of flesh and hide the leeches that live underneath.
It's easy to cry when you realize that everyone you love will reject you or die. On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.
Infidelity does not consist in believing, or in disbelieving; it consists in professing to believe what he does not believe.
I thought my wife ought not even to be under suspicion.
I’m perfectly all right. Yet there’s something ominous about turning sixty-five. Suddenly old age is not a phenomenon which will occur; it has occurred.
For peace you needed human company-his aloneness was like a threat of things to come.
Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
It’s all interconnected…We produce new ways of thinking, then other people think it.
The future lies ahead like a glittering city, but like the cities of the desert disappears when approached.
I can’t stand real things. If I could put up with reality I wouldn’t be in here.
She lay night after night in a confused terror, trying to imagine if death was perpetual night, or an abyss of flames she had to jump over to reach the golden fields on the far side, or a sphere like the inside of a gigantic balloon full of soaring choirs and light attenuated through limitless stained-glass windows.