“My eyes feel all soft, all soft as flesh. I’m going to sleep.”

All men are Prophets or else God does not exist.

To think new thoughts you have to break the bones in your head.

Nothingness lies coiled in the heart of being – like a worm.

I have no religion, but if I were to choose one, it would be that of Shariati’s.

I’d come to realize that all our troubles spring from our failure to use plain, clear-cut language.

What is there to fear in such a regular world?

People who live in society have learnt how to see themselves, in mirrors, as they appear to their friends. I have no friends: is that why my flesh is so naked?

What is important is not what happens to us, but how we respond to what happens to us.

Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.

I suppose it is out of laziness that the world is the same day after day. Today it seemed to want to change. And then anything, anything could happen.

Everything has been figured out, except how to live.

Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees.

One could only damage oneself through the harm one did to others. One could never get directly at oneself.

You must be like me; you must suffer in rhythm.

People are like dice. We throw ourselves in the direction of our own choosing.

I’ve dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest. So gather me up, dear, fold me to your heart – and you’ll see how nice I can be.

I knew my healing had purpose when songs that used to remind me of you didn’t bring tears to my eyes anymore.

If my eyes could show my soul,everyone would cry when they saw me smile.

Sometimes life is easier when you intentionally choose not to understand the meaning behind, when you try to look away from what’s apparent to the eyes of the mind.

I don’t make music for eyes. I make music for ears.

I close my eyes and I see you. I open them, and I’m blind.

I am still looking for a soft heart in the eyes of a someone. A wild and innocent soul. Always breathless to take in a new horizon. Someone who is waiting to drive into the night and wants me to join them.

Every day is a holiday: you open your eyes, and you realize that you are alive, and this is already a great start, because you might not have woken up.

It’s you that found me years ago, with those shattered eyes beneath lies.