It’s like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.
Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.
It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it.
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.
When I look at my life and its secret colours, I feel like bursting into tears.
Sleep is good, he said, and books are better.
No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.
Books may well be the only true magic.
The best index to a person’s character is how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and how he treats people who can’t fight back.
Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures. No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.
I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won’t tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn’t change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.
You can make anything by writing.
The best books… are those that tell you what you know already.
Right now I’m having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time. I think I’ve forgotten this before.
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