The unwaking world was as hushed as a deep forest.
The silence grew deeper, so deep that if you listened carefully you might very well catch the sound of the earth revolving on its axis.
The right words always seemed to come too late.
The pillow smells like the sunlight, a precious smell.
The most frightening thing in the world is our own self.
The most dangerous creature here would have to be me. So maybe I'm just scared of my own shadow.
The more honest I try to be, the more the right words recede into the distance.
The body is not the only target of rape. Violence does not always take a visible form, and not all wounds gush blood.
That’s what love’s all about. You’re the only one having those wonderful feelings, but you have to go it alone as you wander through the dark your mind and body have to bear it all. All by yourself.
That's the kind of death that frightens me. The shadow of death slowly, slowly eats away at the region of life, and before you know it everything's dark and you can't see, and the people around you th...
That's how it is with art. Mere humans who root through their refrigerators at three o'clock in the morning are incapable of such writing.
That backpack's like your symbol of freedom, he comments.Guess so, I say.Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents.Sometimes,...
Tell me, Doctor, are you afraid of death?I guess it depends on how you die.
Strong and independent? I’m neither. I’m just being pushed along by reality, whether I like it or not.
Somewhere, far, far away, there's a shitty island. An island without a name. An island not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm trees that also hav...
Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person’s heart and dissolve it.
Sometimes you’re just the sweetest thing. Like Christmas, summer holidays and a brand-new puppy all rolled into one.
Sometimes when I think of life, I feel like a piece of driftwood washed up on shore.
Sometimes taking time is actually a shortcut.
Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum -- a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself.