Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.
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.
The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day.
Words are the clothes thoughts wear.
You're on earth. There's no cure for that.
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.
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.
I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.
All this business of a labour to accomplish, before I can end, of words to say, a truth to recover, in order to say it, before I can end, of an imposed task, once known, long neglected, finally forgotten, to perform, before I can be done with speaking, done with listening, I invented it all, in the hope it would console me, help me to go on, allow me to think of myself as somewhere on a road, moving, between a beginning and an end, gaining ground, losing ground, getting lost, but somehow in the long run making headway.
I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.
Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.
For to know nothing is nothing, not to want to know anything likewise, but to be beyond knowing anything, to know you are beyond knowing anything, that is when peace enters in, to the soul of the incurious seeker.
All life long, the same questions, the same answers.
The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust
With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.
My mistakes are my life.
The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.
What do I know of man's destiny? I could tell you more about radishes.
James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.
To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.
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