Nasib memang diserahkan kepada manusia untuk digarap, tetapi takdir harus ditandatangani di atas materai dan tidak boleh digugat kalau nanti terjadi apa-apa, baik atau buruk.
What a strange thing it is to recognize a sound like the shriek of a wounded animal, when you've never heard the shriek of a wounded animal.
Romance is very pretty in novels, but the romance of a life is always a melancholy matter. They are most happy who have no story to tell.
The sole agents, indeed, in the action of her novels are individual human beings. And the comedy is the outcome of their making fools of themselves and of one another.
Once outside the magic circle the writers became their lonely selves, pondering on poems, observing their fellow men ruthlessly, putting people they knew into novels; no wonder they were without friends.
After all, isn't the purpose of the novel, or of a museum, for that matter, to relate our memories with such sincerity as to transform individual happiness into a happiness all can share?
She forgot: it was as simple as that. She just loved being with the guy. Possibly enough that not even their own wedding could screw it up.
An error of the passions is not the flowering of a great love, and merely the beauty of the human form is not capable of inspiring an eternity of mad attachment.
She didn't want me; she wanted all of me. I didn't mind saying it. My girlfriend scared the crap out of me.
No one could possibly understand my purest feelings but I couldn't care less; My deepest yearnings are nobody's goddamn business anyway
Her love has been always unrequited, but until now it wasn't real love. Now it hurts, and that's how she knows it is real.
I am anti-social and have a dark personality. I have no redeeming qualties and nothing to offer, therefore I could never have what I wanted
I remembered reading in a hard-boiled detective novel that if you drink in the same place two nights in a row, the bartender and waiters will remember your face.
Fearful that they would be caught, the young lovers cast themselves into the sea with their stone, saying these words, "May we ever be united in love and hidden as long as this stone hides in deep waters.
How I would enjoy being told the novel is dead. How liberating to work in the margins, outside a central perception. You are the ghoul of literature.
It is so easy to have our eyes opened, but then close them again, pretend it never happened, and go back to doing what has always been done.
Yes, they mean well, but the only good that an absence of malice guarantees is a clear conscience.
You never know until you give something your best and keep working at it. Follow your dreams no matter what
Love is something that is beyond us. We can't anticipate love. When, where and with whom we fall in love is coincidental and wonderful for the same reason.
Life is full of beautiful moments. Live your life to the fullest. And do what you love.
...which recall(s) a moment in time when raw excess made them a casual aristocracy, apart from the rest of the world.
