He sank to his knees, absolutely full of despair and sadness. For a long time, droplets of blood continued to fall into his lap.
Ahmed turned, and leaned into him. Kissed him on the mouth again. “I’m pretty fucked up,” Eshe said. “It’s a good thing I’m perfect, then.
The past is important for all the information and wisdom it holds. But you can get lost in it. You've got to learn to keep the knowledge of the past with you as you pursue the present.
It was the secret to winning any contest, he said, in life or in the boxing ring – you just had to get up more than you fell down.
Life is stranger than any of us expected, There is a somber, imponderable fate. Enigma rules, and the heart has no certainty.
We read each other through our eyes, and anatomically they are an extension of our brains. When we catch someone's eye, we look into a mind.
Our memory fragments don't have any coherence until they're imagined in words. Time is a property of language, of syntax, and tense.
That is the strangeness of language: it crosses the boundaries of the body, is at once inside and outside, and it sometimes happens that we don't notice the threshold has been crossed.
Again I resume the long lesson: how small a thing can be pleasing, how little in this hard world it takes to satisfy the mind and bring it to its rest.
The day he moved out was terrible – That evening she went through hell. His absence wasn’t a problem But the corkscrew had gone as well.
Write to amuse? What an appalling suggestion! I write to make people anxious and miserable and to worsen their indigestion.
If the last to know he’s an addict is the addict, then maybe the last to know when a man means what he says is the man himself, he reflected.
Horrible the fate of the advice-giver in our culture: to repeat oneself in a thousand contexts until death, or irrelevance. * I abjure advice-giver.
Sometimes I wish I knew how to go crazy. I forget how.
...for each of us sees clarity only in those ideas which have the same degree of confusion as his own.
We imagine always when we speak that it is our own ears, our own mind, that are listening.
Apenas discerni que repetir o que toda a gente pensava não era em política um sinal de inferioridade, mas de superioridade.
I am an enthusiastic Darwinian, but I think Darwinism is too big a theory to be confined to the narrow context of the gene.
Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.
I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and breath.
Art is just an expression. An expression isn't the same as an act, as much as it sometimes feels that way.
