I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.
Bram StokerAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: irish
- Born: November 8, 1847
- Died: April 20, 1912
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The days aren't discarded or collected, they are beesthat burned with sweetness or maddenedthe sting: the struggle continues, the journeys go and come between honey and pain. No, the net of years doesn't unweave: there is no net. They don't fall drop by drop from a river: there is no river. Sleep doesn't divide life into halves, or action, or silence, or honor: life is like a stone, a single motion, a lonesome bonfire reflected on the leaves, an arrow, only one, slow or swift, a metalthat...
Pablo Neruda