Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.' You won't believe what you can accomplish by attempting the impossible with the courage to repeatedly fail better.
The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.
Words are the clothes thoughts wear.
You're on earth. There's no cure for that.
Yesterday is not a milestone that has been passed, but a daystone on the beaten track of the years, and irremediably part of us, within us, heavy and dangerous. We are not merely more weary because of yesterday, we are other, no longer what we were before the calamity of yesterday.
Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.
Nothing is more real than nothing.
If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.
What was God doing with himself before the creation?
Perhaps that's what I feel, an outside and an inside and me in the middle, perhaps that's what I am, the thing that divides the world in two, on the one side the outside, on the other the inside, that can be as thin as foil, I'm neither one side nor the other, I'm in the middle, I'm the partition, I've two surfaces and no thickness, perhaps that's what I feel, myself vibrating, I'm the tympanum, on the one hand the mind, on the other the world, I don't belong to either.
We are all born crazy. Some remain that way.
Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.
The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday morns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
All has not been said and never will be.
Against the charitable gesture there is no defence.
I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.
I am interested in the shape of ideas even if I do not believe in them. There is a wonderful sentence in Augustine . . . "Do not despair: one of the thieves was saved; do not presume: one of the thieves was damned." That sentence had a wonderful shape. It is the shape that matters.
I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
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