“I kept thinking how marvellous it would be if I could somehow tear my heart, which felt so heavy, out of my chest.”

Without a knowledge of languages you feel as if you don’t have a passport.

I observed that after marriage people cease to be curious.

Brevity – the sister of talent.

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.

Faith is an aptitude of the spirit. It is, in fact, a talent: you must be born with it.

They say philosophers and wise men are indifferent. Wrong. Indifference is a paralysis of the soul, a premature death.

For God’s sake, have some self-respect and do not run off at the mouth if your brain is out to lunch.

The unhappy are egotistical, base, unjust, cruel, and even less capable of understanding one another than are idiots. Unhappiness does not unite people, but separates them.

I can only regard with bewilderment an educated man who is also religious.

Everything on earth is beautiful, everything — except what we ourselves think and do when we forget the higher purposes of life and our own human dignity.

Better a debauched canary than a pious wolf.

When all is said and done, no literature can outdo the cynicism of real life; you won’t intoxicate with one glass someone who has already drunk up a whole barrel.

The more refined one is, the more unhappy.

When a person expends the least amount of motion on one action, that is grace.

The problem is that we attempt to solve the simplest questions cleverly, thereby rendering them unusually complex. One should seekthe simple solution.

What seems to us serious, significant and important will, in future times, be forgotten or won’t seem important at all.

The breaking of my heart always did sound like the crack of lightening.

All of this heartache is a war story.

We are broken. But never beyond repair.

We spent a life time loving, to write an ode to heartbreak in the end.

You are a nameless prayer, my heart begs to be brought again to existence.

They said everything I lost will come back to me. I said -everything I’ve lost is too lost to ever come back to Me.

My love isn’t love. It is devotion. I don’t fall in love, I shatter. I don’t love, I worship.

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.