自己
A story is a letter that the author writes to himself, to tell himself things that he would be unable to discover otherwise.
The world is full of stories, but what matters is how you tell yours.
You are the storyteller of your own life, and you can create your own legend or not.
We don't even know how strong we are until we are forced to bring that hidden strength forward.
The past is a mirror in which we see ourselves reflected.
He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.
Age isn't how old you are but how old you feel.
He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
To enjoy freedom we have to control ourselves.
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
Theoretically there is a perfect possibility of happiness: believing in the indestructible element within oneself, and not striving towards it.
You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
A man lies the most when he lies to himself.
Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.
I'm a failed poet. Maybe every novelist wants to write poetry first, finds he can't and then tries the short story which is the most demanding form after poetry. And failing at that, only then does he turn to the novel.
The artist, like the God of the creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.
I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use—silence, exile, and cunning.
Success is relative: It is what we can make of the mess we have made of things.