Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi. (Death will come and it will have your eyes.)

But here's the worst part: the trick to life lies in hiding from those we hold most dear how much they mean to is; if not, we'd lose them.

There is an art in taking the whiplash of suffering full in the face, an art you must learn. Let each single attack exhaust itself; pain always makes single attacks, so that its bite may be more intense, more concentrated. And you, while its fangs are implanted and injecting their venom at one spot, do not forget to offer it another place where it can bite you, and so relieve the pain of the first.

The cadence of suffering has begun. Every evening at dusk, my heart constricts until night has come.

Woman gives herself as a prize to the weak and as a prop to the strong and no man ever has what he should.

No one ever lacks a good reason for suicide.

The art of living is the art of knowing how to believe lies. The fearful thing about it is that, not knowing what truth may be, we can still recognize lies.