Sadayatana

The Edge... There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others--the living--are those who pushed their luck as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it's In.

- Hunter S. Thompson

After silence that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

- Aldous Huxley, The Rest is Silence (1931)

...and to this hour the image of Carmilla return to mind with ambiguous alterations--sometimes the playful, languid, beautiful girl; sometimes the writhing fiend I saw in the ruined church; and often from a reverie I have started, fancying I heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing room door.

- Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla (1871)

Nevertheless, life and death are mysterious states, and we know little of the resources of either.

- Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla (1871)

The more I look at most of the art movements, it’s all occultism, when you get down to it. The Surrealists were openly talking about being magicians.

- Alan Moore, De Abaitua interview (1998)

The original is unfaithful to the translation.

- Jorge Luis Borges

It is one of the commonest of mistakes to consider that the limit of our power of perception is also the limit of all there is to perceive.

- C. W. Leadbeater, The Chakras (1927)

The people dreamed and fought and slept as much as ever. And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.

- Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (1940)

It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature, but I don't want to waste valuable time reading any book that has not had the baptism of time. Life is too short.

- Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (1987)

I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.

- Hermann Hesse, Demian (1919)