I amused myself with mental games in which I changed the focus, deceived myself, forgot altogether what had been troubling me or wrapped in a mysterious haze.We might call this confused, hazy state me...
I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of a well.
Heaven was the place where you kept alive the dreams of your memories.
Happiness means being close to the one you love, that's all. (Taking immediate possession is not necessary.)
كل شئ في البعيدِ ينتهي .
[...] δεν υπάρχει ούτε Θεός ούτε άλλος κόσμος, ο άλλος κόσμος είναι ένα χοντρό, απαίσιο ψέμα αυτών που θέλουν να μας επιβάλλονται, να μας εξουσιάζουν. Για ν' αποδείξουμε την ύπαρξη του Θεού, δεν έχουμ...
In the beginning the point was not to have a point, to escape the world in which everyone had to have a job, a desk, an office.
Es algo sabido que la vida no está predeterminada y que todas las historias son una cadena de casualidades. Pero incluso los que son conscientes de esa realidad, cuando llega cierto momento de su exis...
Colour is the touch of the eye,Music to the deaf,A word out of darkness.
But I think it must be easier for a girl to marry someone she doesn’t know, because the more you get to know men, the harder it is to love them.
Because, as I would always tell myself so many years later, lying here in my bed: You can't start out again in life, that's a carriage ride you only take once, but with a book in your hand, no matter...
A letter doesn't communicate by words alone. A letter, just like a book, can be read by smelling it, touching it and fondling it. Thereby, intelligent folk will say, 'Go on then, read what the letter...
If a writer is to tell his own story - tell it slowly, and as if it were a story about other people - if he is to feel the power of the story rise up inside him, if he is to sit down at a table and pa...
قبلا فکر میکردم که اگه دو نفر به هم همیشه راست بگن ،یعنی عین حقیقت رو بگن،باید خیلی باهم صمیمی باشن ولی الآن دیدم که انگار باید برای حفظ صمیمیت، بعضی جاها دروغ هم بگی
الموت ليس نهاية كل شيء , وهذا مؤكد , ولكنه مؤلم إلى حدّ لا يمكن تصوّره , وتحمّل هذا الألم غير المحدود صعب إلى حدّ أن جزءاً من عقلي يرى مخرجه الوحيد نسيان هذا الأمر والإندفاع بقوة نحو نوم هانئ .
أين الأرواح المتشابهة (المتناسخة) التى أستطيع التحدث معها؟ أين البلاد التى أجد فيها الحلم الذى تحدث إلى قلبى؟ أين هؤلاء الذين قرءوا الكتاب أيضاً؟
İnsan hepsini aynı anda düşünemiyor ama görebiliyordu. Aklımdaki kelimelerin, aklımdaki hayallere yetişememesi gibi bir şeydi bu. Kelimeler duygularıma yetişemiyor ve yetersiz kalıyorlardı.
[N]othing is as surprising as life. Except for writing. Except for writing. Yes, of course, except for writing, the only consolation.
You can’t start out again in life, that’s a carriage ride you only take once, but with a book in your hand, no matter how confusing and perplexing it might be, once you’ve finished it, you can always...
When you love a city and have explored it frequently on foot, your body, not to mention your soul, gets to know the streets so well after a number of years that in a fit of melancholy, perhaps stirred...