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i usually solve problems by letting them devour me.

finally, she mused that human existence is as brief as the life of autumn grass, so what was there to fear from taking chances with your life?

tell me… do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?

and perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.

i love august and its sadness.

memory is bitter to me / for if i did good deeds / i know not of them.

it is a nervous shadow cast into the world by you, eating away at reality. a great, unnatural territory. its advent coincides with the arrival of the human mind.

their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

i am a forest fire and an ocean, and i will burn you just as much as i will drown everything you have inside.

you will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.

this is somewhere to be. this is all you have, but it's still something. streets and sodium lights. the sky, the world. you're still alive.

you dangle on the leash / of your own longing; your / need grows teeth.

we’ll dream of a longer summer but this is the one we have: i lay my sunburnt hand on your table: this is the time we have.

she had believed in her own inherent goodness, her humanity, and lived accordingly, never causing anyone harm.

we want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

he is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t yet lived.

in the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk.

real darkness has love for a face. the first death is in the heart.