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DAISY: I never knew you were such a realist-I thought you were more poetic. Where's your imagination? There are many sides to reality. Choose the one that's best for you. Escape into the world of imagination.
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When I was born, I was almost fourteen years old. That's why I was able to understand more easily than most what it was all about.
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Since the death instinct exists in the heart of everything that lives, since we suffer from trying to repress it, since everything that lives longs for rest, let us unfasten the ties that bind us to life, let us cultivate our death wish, let us develop it, water it like a plant, let it grow unhindered. Suffering and fear are born from the repression of the death wish.
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I long for solitude and yet I cannot stand it.
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Oh words, what crimes are committed in your name? ~Jack or The Submission
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The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us. When the world seems familiar, when one has got used to existence, one has become an adult.
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Beauty is a precious trace that eternity causes to appear to us and that it takes away from us. A manifestation of eternity, and a sign of death as well.
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Childhood is the world of miracle and wonder; as if creation rose, bathed in the light, out of the darkness, utterly new and fresh and astonishing. The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us.
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I've always been suspicious of collective truths. I think an idea is true when it hasn't been put into words and that the moment it's put into words it becomes exaggerated. Because the moment it's put into words there's an abuse, an excess in the expression of the idea that makes it false.
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I personally would like to bring a tortoise onto the stage, turn it into a racehorse, then into a hat, a song, a dragoon and a fountain of water. One can dare anything in the theatre and it is the place where one dares the least.
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A writer never has a vacation. For a writer, life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.
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We haven't the time to take out time.
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When silence confronts us, the question to which there is no answer rings out in the silence. That ultimate "why," that great "why" is like a light that blots out everything, but a blinding light; nothing more can be made out.
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Dreams are reality at its most profound, and what you invent is truth because invention, by its nature, can't be a lie.
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I have always considered imaginative truth to be more profound, more loaded with significance, than every day reality... Everything we dream about, and by that I mean everything we desire, is true (the myth of Icarus came before aviation, and if Ader or Bleriot started flying it is because all men have dreamed of flight). There is nothing truer than myth... Reality does not have to be: it is simply what is.
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I still forget, sometimes, that I am no longer 12 years old.
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Shakespeare was the great one before us. His place was between God and despair.
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We are all looking for something of extraordinary importance whose nature we have forgotten; I am writing the memoirs of a man who has lost his memory.
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It isn't what people think that is important, but the reason they think what they think.
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It's only when I say that everything is incomprehensible that I come as close as possible to understanding the only thing it is given to us to understand.