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“You’re asking me about love, Marcus, but love is complicated. It is at once the most extraordinary and the worst thing that can happen to you. You’ll discover it for yourself one day. Love can hurt so much. All the same, you should not be afraid of falling, and especially not of falling in love, because love is also very beautiful. But like everything that’s beautiful, it dazzles you and hurts your eyes.”
In case you haven’t noticed, life generally doesn’t have any meaning—unless you strive, every God-given day, to provide it with some.
“Harry, why are writers such lonely people? Hemingway, Melville … they’re the loneliest men in the world!” “I don’t know whether it’s that writers are lonely or whether it’s loneliness that makes them write …”
Freedom is a constant battle of which we are barely even aware.
They would wait for the mailman like lovers waiting at a railway platform.
My love for you is infinite and eternal, and it has been since the very first day.
“In our society, Marcus, the most admired men are those who build bridges, skyscrapers, and empires. But in reality, the proudest and most admirable are those who manage to build love. Because there is no greater or more difficult undertaking.”
All I know is that life is a series of choices, and that you have to keep making them.”
“You see, Marcus, the way it works in our society, we are constantly having to choose between reason and passion. Reason never helps anyone and passion is often destructive. So, don’t ask me to help you choose.” “Why do you say that?” “Just because. Life is a rip-off.”
You and me: That was a dream, I think. And now we must wake up. I will miss you all my life. Goodbye. I love you as I will never love anyone again.
“Learn to love your failures, Marcus, because it is your failures that will make you who you are. It is your failures that will give meaning to your victories.”
“Well, there’s your answer: It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. What matters is how you fight between the first bell and the last one.
Life is like a foot race, Marcus: There will always be people who are faster than you, and there will always be those who are slower than you. What matters, in the end, is how you ran your race.”
And if every writer had to limit his writing to his own experiences, literature would be impoverished and would lose all its meaning.
“Cherish love, Marcus. Make it your greatest conquest, your sole ambition. After men, there will be other men. After books, there will be other books. After glory, there will be other glories. After money, there will be yet more money. But after love, Marcus, after love, there is nothing but the salt from tears.”
You know what information is, Goldman? It’s a limitless flow in a limited space. The mass of information is exponential, but the time that each person gives it is very limited.
“Writers’ heaven is the place where you decide to rewrite your life the way you wish you had lived it. Because a writer’s power, Marcus, is that he gets to decide the ending of the book. He has power over life and death; he has the power to change everything. Writers have more power in their fingertips than they imagine. All they have to do is close their eyes and they can change an entire lifetime.
“The truth does not change how you feel about someone. That’s the great tragedy of love.”
