Truth has very few friends and those few are suicides.

Man goes nowhere. Everything comes to man, like tomorrow.

A door opens to me. I go in and am faced with a hundred closed doors.

My poverty is not complete: it lacks me.

In no one did I find who I should be like. And I stayed like that: like no one.

Nothing that is complete breathes.

When the superficial wearies me, it wearies me so much that I need an abyss in order to rest.

Not everyone does evil, but everyone stands accused.

Sometimes I find that misery is so vast that I am afraid of needing it.

The far away, the very far, the farthest, I have found only in my own blood.

He who tells the truth says almost nothing.

Only the wound speaks its own word.

That it man which cannot be domesticated is not his evil but his goodness.

There are sufferings that have lost their memory and do not remember why they are suffering.

Nothing ends without breaking, because everything is endless.

I have come one step away from everything. And here I stay, far from everything, one step away.

Suffering does not follow us. It goes before us.

We tear life out of life to use it for looking at itself.

When everything is finished, the mornings are sad.

Suffering is above, not below. And everyone thinks that suffering is below. And everyone wants to rise.

Sometimes at night I light a lamp so as not to see.

I saw a dead man. And I was little, little, little… My God, what a great thing a dead man is!

Yes, one must suffer, even in vain, so as not to have lived in vain.

Only a few arrive at nothing, because the way is long.

I am in myself so little that what they do with me scarcely interests me.

Certainties are arrived at only on foot.

Man, when he realises that he is an object of comedy, does not laugh.

Near me nothing but distances.

Yes, I will go. I would rather grieve over your absence than over you.

It is a long time now since I asked heaven for anything, and still my arms have not come down.

The shadows: some hide, others reveal.

The loss of a thing affects us until we have lost it altogether.

You are sad because they abandon you and you have not fallen.

The void terrifies, and you open your eyes wider!

When one does not love the impossible, one does not love anything.

My bits of time play with eternity.

My final belief is suffering. And I begin to believe that I do not suffer.

To wound the heart is to create it.

The sun illumines the night, it does not turn it into light.

Every toy has the right to break.

When I believe in nothing I do not want to meet you when you believe in nothing.

Sometimes I believe that evil is everything, and that good is only a beautiful desire for evil.

The love that is not all pain is not all love.

Now humanity does not know where to go, because no one is waiting for it: not even God.

The irreparable is the act of no one: it happens by itself.

I would ask something more of this world, if it had something more.

You do not see the river of tears because it lacks one tear of your own.

When you and the truth speak to me I do not listen to the truth. I listen to you.

I can wait for you no longer. Because you have arrived.

from Antonio Porchia's Voices