...there is little that comes so close to death as fulfilled love.

Justice was revenge wrapping itself in a cloak of high principle.

Most people can't imagine a life that is any different from the one they are actually living. They can dream about it, they can even go into the streets and demonstrate for it, but they still can't imagine what it would be like.

To destroy is easier than to create, and that is why so many people are ready to demonstrate against what they reject. But what would they say if one asked them what they wanted instead?

Man is afraid to attain what he longs for, just as subconsciously he longs for what he is afraid of.

Every few seconds a new book sees the light of day. Most of them will just be a part of the hum that makes us hard of hearing. Even the book is becoming an instrument of forgetting. A truly literary work comes into being as its creator's cry of protest against the forgetting that looms over him, over his predecessors and his contemporaries alike, and over his time, and the language he speaks. A literary work is something that defies death.

A picture was a motionless record of motion. An arrested representation of life. A picture was the kiss of death pretending to possess immutability.