Life and Existence

I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita.

Our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.

Our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.

The number of portraits one saw of [Emperor Franz Joseph] was almost as great as the number of inhabitants of his realms. . . . Believing in his existence was rather like seeing certain stars although they ceased to exist thousands of years ago.

The number of portraits one saw of [Emperor Franz Joseph] was almost as great as the number of inhabitants of his realms. . . . Believing in his existence was rather like seeing certain stars although they ceased to exist thousands of years ago.

There is nothing in this world as invisible as a monument.

Thus anything whatsoever may become the subject of a novel, provided only that it happens in this mundane life and not in some fairyland beyond our human ken.

When a man goes out of the room, he leaves everything in it behind. . . . When a woman goes out she carries everything that happened in the room along with her.

I know what every colored woman in this country is doing. . . . Dying. Just like me. But the difference is they dying like a stump. Me, I’m going down like one of those redwoods. I sure did live in this world.

I know what every colored woman in this country is doing. . . . Dying. Just like me. But the difference is they dying like a stump. Me, I’m going down like one of those redwoods. I sure did live in this world.

When Abraham Lincoln was murdered

[ Drawing his beard aside before placing his head on the block :] This hath not offended the king.

Men should be bewailed at their birth, and not at their death.

The ceaseless labor of your life is to build the house of death.

I want . . . death to find me planting my cabbages.

Truly man is a marvelously vain, diverse, and undulating object. It is hard to found any constant and uniform judgment on him.

I want to be seen here in my simple, natural, and ordinary fashion, without straining or artifice; for it is myself that I portray.

I am myself the matter of my book.

Wilson Mizner . . . recalls his embarrassment when he first came into the world, and found a woman in bed with him.

[ On his deathbed, telling a priest he had no need to speak with him :] I’ve been talking to your boss, Father.

As he saw it, there was only one choice—to be strong and upright, or to commit suicide.

Human beings . . . they go on being born and dying, dying and being born. It’s kind of boring, isn’t it?

Human beings . . . they go on being born and dying, dying and being born. It’s kind of boring, isn’t it?

A suicide kills two people, Maggie, that’s what it’s for!