Most human activities are predicated on the assumption that life goes on. If you take that premise away, what is there left?
Time moves in it special way in the middle of the night.
Who can really distinguish between the sea and what’s reflected in it? Or tell the difference between the falling rain and loneliness?
They were each like a mirror for the other, reflecting the changes in themselves.
The rain that fell on the city runs down the dark gutters and empties into the sea without even soaking the ground.
Passion can’t sustain itself forever.
I want to believe you, but if that’s true, I just don’t get it. Why does loving somebody mean you have to hurt them just as much? I mean, if that’s the way it goes, what’s the point of loving someone?
And it was the kind of thing that loses the most important nuances when reduced to words. He had never told anyone about it, and he probably never would.
There’s nothing wrong with not looking like something. It just means you don’t fit the stereotype yet.
People are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues.
In most cases learning something essential in life requires physical pain.
Another person’s life is that person’s life. You can’t take responsibility.
Once you let yourself grow close to someone, cutting the ties could be painful.
I’m not afraid to die. What I’m afraid of is having reality get the better of me, of having reality leave me behind.
Her pupils have taken on a lonely hue, like grey clouds reflected in a calm lake.
I may not look it, but I can be a very patient guy. And killing time is one of my specialities.
Sometimes when I think of life, I feel like a piece of driftwood washed up on shore.
If I stayed here, something inside me would be lost forever – something I couldn’t afford to lose. It was like a vague dream, a burning, unfulfilled desire. The kind of dream people have only when they’re seventeen.
Why do people have to build such depressing places? I’m not saying that every nook and cranny of the world has to be beautiful, but does it have to be this ugly?
I never made any plan before writing, however I succeeded. I enjoyed writing with excitement ,“what happen on the next page?”