There is nothing at all to be done about it, There is nothing to do about anything.

Anything can happen: anything. Or nothing. Who can say? The world, monstrous, is made that way, and in the end consumes us all. Who am I, administrated or no, to have the audacity to survive it?

There is no escape from me, not even in death.

From the beginning, through the middle years and up to the end: too bad, too bad, too bad.

Sometimes I didn't think the world was worth it. Saving. Sometimes I didn't think I was worth it either.

The question isn't Why do we die? The question is Why do we live?

The same numbness and disappointment every day sends some people looking for something tragic for proof of life.

That was the worst truth of all: alone. The word was a kind of death.

In the presence of death reason and philosophy are silent

I think: perhaps the sky is a huge sea of fresh water and we, instead of walking under it, walk on top of it; perhaps we see everything upside down and the earth is a kind of sky, so that when we die,...

Mirrors on the ceiling, The pink champagne on ice And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device' And in the master's chambers, They gathered for the feast They stab it with their...

Our life is a journey, through winter and night, We look for our way, in a sky without light.

Well, then, what's the plan now? You can't stay here forever.'My plan was indeed to stay there forever.

That boy never seemed to smile and he wore long sleeves year-round, and I was not so different from him - we were both unable to get near the real life in life.

I don't want to be human. I want to see gamma rays, I want to hear X-rays, and I want to smell dark matter. Do you see the absurdity of what I am? I can't even express these things properly, because I...

The questions push me further into the space in between, the place where my madness lays waiting for me. I struggle with each question, determined to extract some sort of answer, an explanation for...

No more worlds like this / No more days like that

To be mad is worse than not to be if this is what it is.

Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death -...

There's a big difference, I discovered, between wanting to die and not wanting to live. When you want to die, you at least have a goal. When you don't want to live, you're really just empty.

I wonder, with all the flowers in the garden, how many of them ever think of hanging themselves with the garden hose, if ever they can.

I create, therefore I am.

Can you hear Destiny laugh as she tiptoes toward you? Destiny is heartless.

Everyone living is doomed

Because in the end, we die. It's like Chekhov observed in so many of his plays: 'in two hundred years, no one will even know we were here.'

Life in Oseyri was lived in fish and consisted of fish, and human beings were a sort of abortion which Our Lord had made out of cooked fish and perhaps a handful of rotten potatoes and a drop of...

But then again... perhaps the whole human race is cursed, and I'm simply in the lower echelon and therefore lose everything first.

Smartass Disciple: Master, where will you go after your soul leaves your body? Master of Stupidity: What makes you think a soul will go elsewhere physically?

There is neither a Heaven nor a Hell. Life after Death is an oxymoron. Life is just another word for existence, and Death is just another word for non - existence.

this free - man's prison known as life.