Happy roads is bunk. Weary roads is right. Get you nowhere fast. That's where I've got—nowhere. Where everyone lands in the end, even if most of the suckers won't admit it.
There is no present or future-only the past, happening over and over again-now.
It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must be a little in love with death!
Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue.
Life is for each man a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
Happiness hates the timid!
