Quotes from Mark Z. Danielewski

promising the possibility of discovery while all along dissolving into chaotic ambiguities too blurry to ever completely comprehend.

Can Clara English ever recover or is she permanently wounded, damned to stagger under years devoid of meaning & love until finally the day comes when she stumbles and is swept away?

How then do you fly from that path?

This is not for you

And no, it hasn't gone away. The elusive it is still here with me. But there's very little I can do.

Luckily they haven't heard me or if they have they've sense enough to ignore me. I wish I could ignore me.

Very soon he will vanish completely in the wings of his own wordless stanza.

Do you believe in God? I don't think I ever asked you that one. Well I do now. But my God isn't your Catholic varietal or your Judaic or Mormon or Baptist or Seventh Day Adventist or whatever/whoever. No burning bush, no angels, no cross. God's a house. Which is not to say that our house is God's house or even a house of God. What I mean to say is that our house is God.

For at least a week, I was hung over with no sense of what lay ahead, plenty of untraceable guilt and a mounting sense of despair.

This wasn't necessary. It could have been avoided. We didn't need to go through all this.

You alone must find the way. No one else can help you. Every way is different. And if you do lose yourself at least take solace in the absolute certainty that you will perish.

It's not the healthiest way to proceed. She merely replaced one dependency for another without confronting what lay at the heart of both.

Les murs sont infiniment nus. Rien n'y est suspendu, rien de les définit. Ils sont dépourvus de texture. Même à l'œil le plus aguerri ou aux doigts les plus sensibles, ils demeurent illisibles. Vous ne trouverez jamais ici la moindre marque. Aucune trace ne survit. Les murs effacent tout. Ils sont en permanence lavés de toute trace. Obliques, à jamais obscurs et vierges. On a là le parfait panthéon de l'absence.

What at all can we ever really possess?

Les jeux son fait. Nous sommes fucked.

Do you believe in God? I don't think I ever asked you that one. Well I do now. God's a house. Which is not to say that our house is God's house or even a house of God. What I mean to say is that our house i?s? God.

i miss the man i thought i was before i met her the man who would have saved her who would have done something who would have been tom maybe hes the one im looking for or maybe im looking for all of them i miss u i love u there's no second ive lived you can't call your own -Navy

L'Amore è tutto! - Libertà , obietta poi quello brutto. - Amore e Libertà sono tutt'uno. - E Matrimonio? Là dove l'Amore, accettando la fine della Libertà, garantisce il Suo disfacimento.

Lude whispered when he told me things, things I couldn't give a damn about back then but now, now, well my nights would be a great deal shorter if I didn't have to remember them.

Typically when Lude calls me late at night it's because there's some party he wants to hit. He's the kind of guy who thinks sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila. Maybe he's right.

We cannot rest within those walls, we have to struggle past them.

Remember, while hell may be a place of misery, it still perseveres, promising perpetual preservation, continuation.

Kept for that moment when I'm certain nothing's left.

Quick note here: if this crush–slash–swooning stuff is hard for you to stomach; if you've never had a similar experience, then you should come to grips with the fact that you've got a TV dinner for a heart and might want to consider climbing inside a microwave and turning it on high for at least an hour, which if you do consider only goes to show what kind of idiot you truly are because microwaves are way too small for anyone, let alone you, to climb into.