#Quote

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others. - Virginia Woolf

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I always had the deepest affection for people who carried sublime tears in their silences.
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.
We are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself.
I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything.
I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.
I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.
Love had a thousand shapes.
Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, our hotchpotch of impulses, our perpetual miracle - for the soul throws up wonders every second. Movement and change are the essence of our being; rigidity is death; conformity is death; let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says. For nothing matters except life.
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.