The present moment is all you ever have. There is never a time when your life is not 'this moment. ' Is this not a fact?
Language was not given to man: he seized it.
Yes, I read. I have that absurd habit. I like beautiful poems, moving poetry, and all the beyond of that poetry. I am extraordinarily sensitive to those poor, marvelous words left in our dark night by a few men I never knew.
Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness, and truth presupposes error. It is these mingled opposites which people our life, which make it pungent, intoxicating. We only exist in terms of this conflict, in the zone where black and white clash.
Can the knowledge deriving from reason even begin to compare with knowledge perceptible by sense?
No more painters, no more scribblers, no more musicians, no more sculptors, no more religions, no more royalists, no more radicals, no more imperialists, no more anarchists, no more socialists, no more communists, no more proletariat, no more democrats, no more republicans, no more bourgeois, no more aristocrats, no more arms, no more police, no more nations, an end at last to all this stupidity, nothing left, nothing at all, nothing, nothing.
I have no friends, there are only people I love.
He looked at her and for a moment she lived in the bright blue worlds of his eyes, eagerly and confidently.
I want the reader to turn the page and keep on turning to the end.
. . . when men ignite in their hearts a religious fury, they inflict at the same time a blindness on their eyes.
The moment the door closed behind him, Tessa was in Will's arms, her hands locked about his neck. "Oh, by the Angel," she said. "That was mortifying. " Will slid his hands into her hair and was kissing her, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks and then her mouth, quickly but with fervor and concentration, as if nothing could be more important. "Listen to you," he said. "You said 'by the angel. ' Like a Shadowhunter. " He kissed the side of her mouth. "I love you. God, I love you. I waited so long to say it.