Arca Quotes

Who, except the gods, can live time through forever without any pain?

A rapid bolt will rend the clouds apart, and every single White be seared by wounds. I tell you this. I want it all to hurt.

Acquisition means life to miserable mortals.

For we are born in other's pain, and perish in our own.

Suffering is the positive element in this world, indeed it is the only link between this world and the positive.

Sleep is good, death is better; but of course, the best thing would to have never been born at all.

To have a body is to suffer.

In our culture I think most people think of grief as sadness, and that's certainly part of it, a large part of it, but there's also this thorniness, these edges that come out.

Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead.

The difficulties of peace are better than the agony of war

Life, in my view, is simple, tragic, and frighteningly beautiful.

Life is a big fat gigantic stinking mess, that's the beauty of it, too.

And yet I am convinced that man will never give up true suffering- that is, destruction and chaos. Why, suffering is the sole root of consciousness.

Birth, death, and suffering all bring us to the very edge of what our minds can understand.

Existence is violent, I exist, therefore I'm violent. . . in that way.

Sanity brings pain but madness is a vile thing.

Now they stumbled in the shackles of humanity, lived in a fear that never died, fretted by a law they could not understand; their mock-human existence began in an agony, was one long internal struggle, one long dread of Moreau - and for what? It was the wantonness that stirred me.

Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears; there is no blissful peace until one passes beyond the agony of life and death.

This was a big storm and he might as well enjoy it. It was ruining everything, but you might as well enjoy it

The storm lashes us, out of the confusion of grey and yellow the hail of splinters whips forth the childlike cries of the wounded, and in the night shattered life groans painfully into silence. Our hands are earth, our bodies clay and our eyes pools of rain. We do not know whether we are still alive.

And when he had put his hand on mine with a cheerful look, wherefrom I took courage, he brought me within to the secret things. Here sighs, laments, and deep wailings were resounding through the starless air; wherefore at first I wept thereat. Strange tongues, horrible utterances, words of woe, accents of anger, voices high and faint, and sounds of hands with them, were making a tumult which whirls always in that air forever dark, like the sand when the whirlwind breathes.

Everything passes away-suffering,pain, blood, hunger,pestilence. The sword will pass away too, but the stars will remain when the shadows of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the Earth. There is no man who does not know that. Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars? Why?

Life plays the same lovely and agonizing joke on all of us.

What destruction have I been blessed by?

His characters are ravaged, beaten. They walk through infernos and emerged charred doves.