“The face of the night will be an old wound that reopens each evening, impassive and living. The distant silence will ache like a soul, mute, in the dark. We’ll speak to the night as it’s whispering softly.”

I thought of how many places there are in the world that belong in this way to someone, who has it in his blood beyond anyone else’s understanding.

Love is desire for knowledge.

But here’s the worst part: the trick to life lies in hiding from those we hold most dear how much they mean to is; if not, we’d lose them.

What we desire is not to possess a woman, but to be the only one to possess her.

Writing is a fine thing, because it combines the two pleasures of talking to yourself and talking to a crowd.

You cannot insult a man more atrociously than by refusing to believe he is suffering .

A man is never completely alone in this world. At the worst, he has the company of a boy, a youth, and by and by a grown man – the one he used to be.

What is to come will emerge only after long suffering, long silence.

The only joy in the world is to begin.

Suicides are timid murderers. Masochism instead of Sadism.

All sins have their origin in a sense of inferiority otherwise called ambition.

From someone who doesn’t want to share your destiny, you should neither accept a cigarette.

We like to have work to do, so as to have the right to rest.

Don’t mix wine and women.

You don’t remember days, you remember moments.

Every luxury must be paid for, and everything is a luxury, starting with being in this world.

It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.

Let me light my lamp , says the star, And never debate if it will help to remove the darkness

I watch how the moon sits in the sky in the dark night, shining with the light from the sun, and the sun doesn’t give light to the moon assuming, the moon’s gonna owe it one.

Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past, bringing back these memories I wish I didn’t have.

Can you see anything in the dark, with your sunglasses on? she asked me. The big show is inside my head, I said.

Weak mortals, chained to the earth, creatures of clay as frail as the foliage of the woods, you unfortunate race, whose life is but darkness, as unreal as a shadow, the illusion of a dream.

Everybody has a light and a dark side, and neither can exist without the other.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.