Nothing happened today. And if anything did, I’d rather not talk about it, because I didn’t understand it.

But every single damn thing matters! Only we don't realize. We just tell ourselves that art runs on one track and life, our lives, on another, and we don't realize that's a lie.

Then he went out without touching anything and put his arm around Ingeborg, and like that, with their arms around each other, they returned to the village while the whole past of the universe fell on their heads.

Nothing is ever behind us.

Death, in the Eastern tradition, was only a passage. What wasn't clear ... was toward what place, what reality, that passage led.

The moon is fat and the night air is so pure it seems edible.

Every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me.