Music is the true breath of life. We eat so we won't starve to death. We sing so we can hear ourselves live.

Posterity has never made the grave's embrace less cruel. It simply assuages our fear of death, because there is no better cure for out inevitable morality then the illusion of a beautiful eternity. But there is one illusion I still hold dear: that is the thought of an enlightened nation. That is the only future I still dream of.

The man who let the love of his life pass him by will end up alone with his regrets and all the sighs in the world won't soothe his soul.

We've already been killed, all of us. It happened so long ago, we've forgotten it.

You're all the world to me. Whenever i can't see you... I die a little.

We're fine together, just like this: Our silence protects us from ourselves

If you want your life to be a small part of eternity, to be lucid even in the heart of madness, love... Love with all your strength, love as though it is all you know how to do, love enough to make the gods themselves jealous... for it is in love that all ugliness reveals its beauty.

There's nothing, absolutely nothing, more important than your life. And your life isn't more important than other people's lives.

Culture is always about politics in the end.

Get a grip on yourself. there's only one god here on earth, and that's you. If you don't like the world, make one you like better.

You can know all there is to know about life and mankind, but what do you really know about yourself?

Of course, I'm aware of the animosities destroying brain cells on both sides, and I know all about the obstinacy of the warring parties, their refusal to reach an agreement, their devotion to their own murderous hatred.

Life is a train that stops at no stations you either jump abroad or stand on the platform and watch as it passes.

I was depressed. I knew I was lost, but I had no idea how to find myself again. It was as though I was a different person, an infuriating, disappointing yet indispensable person whose body was my only home.

It seems that the whole world is beginning to decay, and that its putrefaction has chosen to spread outward from here, from the land of the Pashtuns, where desertification proceeds at a steady, implacable crawl even in the consciences and intellects of men.

Though there are things beyond our understanding, for the most part we are the architects of our own unhappiness.

For a man to think he can fulfil his destiny without a woman is a misunderstanding, a miscalculation it is reckless and folly. Certainly a woman is not everthing, but everything depends on her.