I'll never know why some chose never to be born—and there are few alive who've told me why they continue to go on living.

Will you fill yourself with the world? Yet you’ll fill yourself so full that you’ll spend the rest of your life emptying it out.

Never speak ill of the dead, except Hitler.

Tragedy is one of those things better in theory than practice.

Carve the sea shores, delve the caverns, pace the mountains, sail the skies, and bring me something more pleasing and miserable than the human soul. Live your years, bear others to do the same, and pick yourself a coffin--but before you dive in look me strait in the eyes and tell me there's something more glorious, more sensuous than the human soul that the universe has hid from me.

Life welds the humor of a rainbow with the seriousness of a sunset.

The spirit is willing? The flesh is weak? If I had used that excuse throughout school I would have had much more time for writing.

So, you will attempt to outrun your own patience? Yet even to brag in its face you must patiently wait at the finish line for it.

The past and future are always whispering secrets behind the present’s back.

Mozart is the only human who created something literally perfect.

If we’re honest, we’ll admit that all our fantasies—don’t picture them too long!—never held up to our reality.

Is wanting a painless world blasphemous to God, or are speculative theodicies blasphemous towards us?

I’ve seen it one too many times! People will even kill and be killed just to stay in style.

If youth is for the enjoying, why does my despair run so deep in these years?

The moment you indulge in something transient, fooling yourself that is it eternally satisfying— what a glorious and tragic moment!

You think it a comfort when friends and family side with you no matter what? Just wait until people side against you for that same reason, tell me how awesome it is then!

Sometimes, it feels like all talk is small talk.

Maybe it was all just a good dream anyway.

Neglectful living happens usually when you have many options; regretful living happens when you practically have none.

Maybe plants do suffer, but what would we do then? Is our poetry greater than their push-pin?

When everything ends, how inconsequential will the sound of trash-legions roving the world be, though the din I hear now sound similar.

There is nothing more mysterious than color, but let them be a mystery unto themselves; there is nothing more beautiful than a flower, so let them be a beauty to all: I loathe mystery, yet delight in glory.

Life is a polyphony of marriage bells and funeral knells.

If we are all humans, and therefore all the same at heart, then why need we ever introduce ourselves to one another?

If you are primarily motivated by negative drives, people will eventually notice.

People sometimes can’t get enough of empty rhetoric: when someone cease to tell it to them, they tell it to themselves!

Sometimes the most existential of despairs are caused by sleep deprivation, or something similarly banal. Sorry Dostoevsky, that high ideas did not place me on the brink of insanity.