And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.
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And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.
The road is life.
Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
Finding Nirvana is like locating silence.
I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness.
Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream.
Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.
Are we fallen angels who didn't want to believe that nothing is nothing and so were born to lose our loved ones and dear friends one by one and finally our own life, to see it proved?
I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.