When everything is finished, the mornings are sad.
Flowers are without hope. Because hope is tomorrow and flowers have no tomorrow.
Would there be this eternal seeking if the found existed?
What words say does not last. The words last. Because words are always the same, and what they say is never the same.
Man talks about everything, and he talks about everything as though the understanding of everything were all inside him.
When I die, I will not see myself die, for the first time.