Malcolm Lowry

Translation: You can´t live without loving.

What beauty can compare to that of a cantina in the early morning?

God, how pointless and empty the world is! Days filled with cheap and tarnished moments succeed each other, restless and haunted nights follow in bitter routine: the sun shines without brightness, and the moon rises without light.

Though tragedy was in the process of becoming unreal and meaningless it seemed one was still permitted to remember the days when an individual life held some value and was not a mere misprint in a communiqué.

And how could he know whether it was a good omen or not without another drink?

How alike are the groans of love, to those of the dying.

I want your life filling and stirring me. I want your happiness beneath my heart and your sorrows in my eyes and your peace in the fingers of my hand.

In the war to come correspondents would assume unheard of importance, plunging through flame to feed the public its little gobbets of dehydrated excrement.

What is man but a little soul holding up a corpse?

And this is how I sometimes think of myself, as a great explorer who has discovered some extraordinary land from which he can never return to give his knowledge to the world: but the name of this land is hell.

Nothing in the world was more terrible than an empty bottle! Unless it was an empty glass.

How shall the murdered man convince his assassin he will not haunt him.