Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.
Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.
Is there no way out of the mind?
The saddest people I've ever met in life are the ones who don't care deeply about anything at all.
Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
When you have nobody you can make a cup of tea for, when nobody needs you, that's when I think life is over.
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.
Without literature, life is hell.
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?