For a moment I had a strange intuition that just this, and in a real, profound sense, is life; and perhaps happiness even - love with a mixture of sadness, reverence, and silent knowledge.

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Good or ill, life is life; you only realize that when you have to risk it.

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But probably that's the way of the world - when we have finally learned something we're too old to apply it - and so it goes, wave after wave, generation after generation. No one learns anything at all from anyone else.

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Everyone saves someone at least once. Just as he kills someone at least once. Even though he may not know it.

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Mirrors are there when we are and yet they never give anything back to us but our own image. Never, never shall we know what they are when they are alone or what is behind them.

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With blinded eyes I stared at the sky, this grey, endless sky of a crazy god, who had made life and death for his amusement.

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To forget is the secret of eternal youth. One grows old only through memory. There's much too little forgetting.

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Life is a disease, brother, and death begins already at birth. Every breath, every heartbeat, is a moment of dying - a little shove toward the end.

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Sometimes I used to think that one day i should wake up, and all that had been would be over. forgotten, sunk, drowned. Nothing was sure - not even memory.

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We have our dreams because without them we could not bear the truth.

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