We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.
Many people die at twenty five and aren’t buried until they are seventy five.
Those who do not weep, do not see.
Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles.
Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.
I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.
Hard is trying to rebuild yourself, piece by piece, with no instruction book, and no clue as to where all the important bits are supposed to go.
Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.
If there is any possible consolation in the tragedy of losing someone we love very much, it’s the necessary hope that perhaps it was for the best.
I am alone, I thought, and they are everybody.
Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? But I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself – if they could live in my memories – would anyone, anyone, love me?
I’ll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
There is a place in the heart that will never be filled; a space. And even during the best moments, and the greatest times, we will know it.
The death of a beloved is an amputation.
The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.
Nobody loves you when you’re down and out.
I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.
Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness. Everything passes. That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell. Everything passes.
Even those who never frown eventually break down.