boh

Maybe when we die, the first thing we’ll say is, ‘I know this feeling. I was here before.

Siate felici! E se qualche volta la felicità si scorda di voi, voi non vi scordate della felicità.

I wish I hadn’t become so conscious of everything. Once I wouldn’t have noticed: now every conversation, every encounter with a person seems like crossing a mined field; and why can’t I accept that one’s closest friends at moments stick a knife in, deep, between the ribs?

I had no right to feel sorry for myself.

Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey.

The world is a circular desert, heaven is closed and hell is empty.

There are whole years I have dropped to the bottom of an uneasy ocean.

Create silence.

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.