A certain kind of shittiness, a certain kind of stagnation, a certain kind of darkness, goes on propagating itself by its own power in its own self-contained cycle. And once it passes a certain point, no one can stop it-even if the person himself wants to stop it.
A poet might die at twenty-one, a revolutionary or a rock star at twenty four. But after that you assume everything’s going to be all right. you’ve made it past Dead Man’s Curve and you’re out of the tunnel, cruising straight for your destination down a six lane highway whether you want it or not.
I am living in hell from one day to the next. But there is nothing I can do to escape. I don’t know where I would go if I did. I feel utterly powerless, and that feeling is my prision. I entered of my own free will, I locked the door, and I threw away the key.
People have to pay a price for the gifts they are given.
You can’t choose how you’re born but you can choose how you die.
It’s like watching some rare exotic butterfly. Pleasant to watch, but you can’t touch it, for as soon as you do, it dies, it’s brilliance gone.
People can generally be classified into two groups: the mediocre realists and the mediocre dreamers. You clearly belong to the latter. Your fate is and will always be the fate of a dreamer.
Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.
Whoa!” he says with a smile. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen. “Chicken salad a la George Orwell!
Music has that power to revive memories, sometimes so intensely that they hurt.
Actually, I’m extremely dissatisfied with being who I am. It’s nothing to do with my looks or abilities or status or any of that. It simply has to do with being me. The situation strikes me as grossly unfair.
Slowly like a movie fade out, the real world evaporates. I’m alone, inside the world of the story. My favorite feeling in the world.
I’d like to have a good long talk with you once you’ve calmed down. Please call me soon. Happy Birthday.
My words did not seem to reach her. Or, if they did, she was unable to grasp their meaning.
I can’t afford to take responsibilities for others’ lives. It’s all I can do to bear the weight of my own life and my own loneliness.
Let your body work until it is spent, but keep your mind for yourself.
I think certain types of processes don’t allow for any variation. If you have to be part of that process, all you can do is transform – or perhaps distort – yourself through that persistent repetition, and make that process a part of your own personality.
Like the sound of a velvet curtain being drawn aside on a peaceful morning to let sunlight wake someone very special to you.
It was not just that he had terrible style: he also gave the impression that he was deliberately desecrating the very idea of wearing clothes.
El destino se lleva siempre su parte y no se retira hasta obtener lo que le corresponde.