“No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.”

Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it’d lose even its imperfection.

Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time.

Concentration is one of the happiest things in my life.

I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?

Among the many values in life, I appreciate freedom most.

I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.

As time goes on, you’ll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn’t, doesn’t. Time solves most things. And what time can’t solve, you have to solve yourself.

I think history is collective memories. In writing, I’m using my own memory, and I’m using my collective memory.

Nobody likes being alone that much. I don’t go out of my way to make friends, that’s all. It just leads to disappointment.

Listen up – there’s no war that will end all wars.

I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.

I don’t think of myself as an artist. I’m just a guy who can write.

Spend your money on the things money can buy. Spend your time on the things money can’t buy.

If you want to talk about something new, you have to make up a new kind of language.

I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.

Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.

I’ll always leave the same set of strings on my guitars when I’m recording. If I break one I’ll just replace it instead of putting on a whole new set of strings.

Jackson plays a broken guitar because he’s in love with it, and doesn’t want to fix it, I think. It’s so broken.

If only the journey back could bring me to you.

All I have are the memories and all they do is haunt me.

I hope this pain never eases and these wounds never heal. That’s how you keep lingering in scars, underneath my skin.

The partition separating life from death is so tenuous. The unbelievable fragility of our organism suggests a vision on a screen: a kind of mist condenses itself into a human shape, lasts a moment and scatters.

Your spirit is not broken your heart is and you will heal.

We are broken. But never beyond repair.