I didn’t realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and I was gone.
Until you’re about the age of twenty, you read everything, and you like it simply because you are reading it. Then between twenty and thirty you pick what you want, and you read the best, you read all the great works. After that you sit and wait for them to be written. But you know, the least known, the least famous writers, they are the better ones.
Via The Atlantic(via elisebrown)
Trên đời này có lẽ chả có ai viết về nỗi cô đơn, tình yêu và sự bạc bẽo của loài người này hay bằng bác. Ngủ yên nhé, bác già Gabriel.
Source: The Atlantic
The sadness will last forever.
Blow up in smoke, its destiny
Falls on strangers, travels free
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