Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Yes, light, there is no other word for it.
That penny farthing hell you call your mind
We are all born crazy. Some remain that way.
No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.
I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.
What are we doing here, that is the question.
All mankind is us, whether we like it or not.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
All I say cancels out, I’ll have said nothing.
I am still alive then. That may come in useful.
The whisky bears a grudge against the decanter.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.
Words fail, there are times when even they fail.
It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.
Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.
So all things limp together for the only possible.
Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.
Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards.
Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.
We lose our hair, our teeth! Our bloom, our ideals.
it's impossible I should have a mind and I have one
Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.
All life long, the same questions, the same answers.
You cried for night - it falls. Now cry in darkness.
What was God doing with himself before the creation?
The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.
Habit is the ballast that chains the dog to his vomit.
Where you have nothing, there you should want nothing.
Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.
Vladimir: Did I ever leave you? Estragon: You let me go.
Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.
Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.
The only thing you must never speak of is your happiness.
Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.
To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.
Suffering is the main condition of the artistic experience.
Let's go." "We can't." "Why not?" "We're waiting for Godot.
We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?
That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.
All I want to do is sit on my ass and fart and think of Dante.
To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.
The human eyelid is not teartight (happily for the human eye).
That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.