“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.”

There is a universe behind and before him. And the day is approaching when closing the last book on the last shelf on the far left; he will say to himself, “now what?

I am a mere breath of air; a formless thought that thinks of you.

I do not think, therefore I am a moustache.

The worst part about being lied to is knowing you weren’t worth the truth.

To know what life is worth you have to risk it once in a while.

I am myself and I am here.

Little flashes of sun on the surface of a cold, dark sea.

Death is a continuation of my life without me.

Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that’s all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition.

We must act out passion before we can feel it.

Life has no meaning a priori, It is up to you to give it a meaning, and value is nothing but the meaning that you choose.

The more sand that has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.

When the rich wage war it’s the poor who die.

If I became a philosopher, if I have so keenly sought this fame for which I’m still waiting, it’s all been to seduce women basically.

Do you think that I count the days? There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.

Existence is not something which lets itself be thought of from a distance; it must invade you suddenly, master you, weigh heavily on your heart like a great motionless beast – or else there is nothing at all.

She creates art because its the closest she can get to her heart.

Old soul, Poet’s heart, Warrior’s mind.

On paper I have killed you a thousand times but my heart disregards clever words.

Kingdoms can be conquered, but the heart of a woman cannot be ruled.

I am strong. My heart still hopes. My mind still dreams. My soul still craves pouring energy into everything that I love.

As evacuation eases the body, so occasional ejectment of passion seems to appease the agonies of the soul, and dispose to tranquility the agitations of the heart.

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.

A loving heart is the beginning of all knowledge.