As you live out your desolation, you can be either unhappy or happy. Having that choice is what constitutes your freedom.

At the end of true love is death, and only the love that ends in death is love.

Radio... force-feeds us music... everywhere and all the time... sewage-water music in which music is dying.

Most people willingly deceive themselves with a doubly false faith; they believe in eternal memory (of men, things, deeds, peoples) and in rectification (of deeds, errors, sins, injustice). Both are sham. The truth lies at the opposite end of the scale: everything will be forgotten and nothing will be rectified. All rectification (both vengeance and forgiveness) will be taken over by oblivion.

By giving the love act a name, if only an innocent little word like, "it," he paved the way for other words, words that would reflect physical love as in a set of mirrors.

As you live out your desolation, you can be either unhappy or happy. Having that choice is what constitutes your freedom.

On the surface, an intelligible lie; underneath, the unintelligible truth.