The beckoning counts, and not the clicking of the latch behind you.
Who dares to be intellectual in the presence of death?
It is better to be passionate than to be tolerant at the expense of one's soul.
words are but drops pressed out of the lives of those who lived them.
Love, like broken porcelain, should be wept over and buried, for nothing but a miracle will resuscitate it: but who in this world has not for some wild moments thought to recall the irrecoverable with words?
One life is an absurdly small allowance.