je te laisserai des mots.

• those who have suffered much become very bitter or very gentle. ― will durant
• there is a luxury in self-reproach. it is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution. ― oscar wilde
• i wish i knew no astronomy when stars appear. ― joseph brodsky
• language is the mother, not the handmaiden, of thought. ― w.h. auden
• to be alive: not just the carcass, but the spark. that's crudely put, but if we're not supposed to dance, why all this music? ― gregory orr
• i have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, yet, somehow, i am in love with life. ― voltaire
• i suppose i love this life, in spite of my clenched fist. ― andrea gibson
• the unexamined life is not worth living. ― socrates
• besides, other people's heads are a wretched place to be the home of a man's true happiness. ― arthur schopenhauer
• life is that which makes efforts, which pushes upwards and outwards and on; it is the opposite of inertia, and the opposite of accident. against it is the undertow of matter, the lag and slack of things toward relaxation and rest and death... even to stand is to defy matter and its “laws”: while to move about, to go forth and seek, and not, plant-like, to wait, is a victory purchased at every moment by effort and fatigue. ― henri bergson
• your loneliness is precious to you, i know. does it disturb you to know you are dear to me? do not let it. it is such a quiet feeling. it is like the light coming into a room, the moonlight ― katherine mansfield
• no... to be human. to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape. ― terry prachett
• what is left to us is too much the flesh of voltaire, too little the divine fire of his spirit. and yet, darkly as we see him through the glass of time, what a spirit! — “sheer intelligence transmuting fire into light,” “a creature of air and flame, composed of more ethereal and more throbbing atoms than those of other men; there is none whose mental machinery is more delicate, nor whose equilibrium is at the same time more shifting and more exact.” ― will durant
• i dream too much and i don’t write enough and i’m trying to find god everywhere. ― anis mojgani
• to define is to limit. ― oscar wilde
• 'you know, when a person is very, very sad, they like sunsets.' 'and were you very, very sad on the day you watched forty-four sunsets?' but the little prince did not reply. ― antoine de saint-exupéry
• those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. for these, there is hope. ― oscar wilde
• i contradict myself? very well then, i contradict myself; i am large, i contain multitudes. ― walt whitman
• to betray with a kiss. the reek of judas. his lying heart is in my mouth. when i kissed him this morning, i tasted his fear. ― jeanatte winterson
• how lucky i am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. ― a. a. milne
• amo: volo ut sis. (i love you. i want you to be.) ― st. augustine
• he knows how death waits in us like a light switch & there are teeth marks on everything he loves. ― yusef komunyakaa
• they asked "do you love her to death?" i said "speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life." ― mahmoud darwish
• you are the only one who can never see your eyes unless they are dulled by the gaze they rest upon the mirror or the lens. i am interested in seeing my eyes only when they look at you... ― roland barthes
• look, we are not unspectacular things. what would happen if we decided to survive more? ― ada limón
• an artist has got to be careful to never arrive at a place where he thinks he's at somewhere. you... have to realize that you're constantly in a state of becoming. ― bob dylan
• of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than i, and who more faithless?) of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds i see around me, of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, the question, so sad, recurring— what good amid these, o me, o life? answer: that the great play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. ― walt whitman
• so you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloudshadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. you must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. ― rainer maria rilke