Great and small suffer the same mishaps.

The incurable ills are the imaginary ills

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?

We are merely ghost flowers under the shade of the moon...

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.

War doesn't have heroes, it only has the men who lost so many things in their life that they just keep going and do the most unthinkable things, just because they don't care anymore.

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

Before this moment, I have never wished to be something other than what I am. Never felt so keenly the lack of hands with which to touch, the lack of arms with which to hold. Why did they give me this...

Too unconcerned to love and too passionless to hate, too detached to be selfish and too lifeless to be unselfish, too indifferent to experience joy and too cold to express sorrow, they are neither...

You did not kill the fish only to keep alive and to sell for food, he thought. You killed him for pride and because you are a fisherman. You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you...

To flee forever is beyond the capacity of most: at some point even a hunted animal will stop, exhausted, and awaits its fate, if only for a while.

Bits of it floating in the air, he said. It's like dust. You walk about and don't see it, don't notice it, but it's there and it's all coming down, covering everything. You're breathing it in. You...

He had thought love as a policy made a lot of sense for those who could manage it, and anyone who could manage it belonged in religious life. The rest of us have to struggle with more ordinary love,...

Every age, every culture, every custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties and ugliness; accepts certain sufferings as matters of course, puts up...

With my bright shirt and stick with a hook on the top, I set off every morning to... clean the beaches. So many, oh so many human bodies lie there in the light. And so many souls are lost in darkness....

I have no taste for work any longer, I can do nothing more except wait for night. Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea.