He who makes a paradise of his bread makes a hell of his hunger.

What we pay for with our lives never costs too much.

Everything had been stripped of deceptions, that time. And that time I was afraid of everything.

All the suns labor to kindle your flame and a microbe puts it out.

My truths do not last long in me. Not as long as those that are not mine.

Man, when he does not grieve, hardly exists.

Truth has very few friends and those few are suicides.