House Of Leaves Quotes

Whatever you do, don't let your system run you.

House of Leaves is certainly about the unsettling nature of fear - and it was my aim to address that - but its also about recovering from fear.

No one ever really gets used to nightmares.

Losing the possibility of something is the exact same thing as losing hope and without hope nothing can survive.

I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I'm not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares.

Why did god create a dual universe? So he might say ‘Be not like me. I am alone.' And it might be heard.

You shall be my roots and I will be your shade, though the sun burns my leaves. You shall quench my thirst and I will feed you fruit, though time takes my seed. And when I'm lost and can tell nothing of this earth you will give me hope. And my voice you will always hear. And my hand you will always have. For I will shelter you. And I will comfort you. And even when we are nothing left, not even in death, I will remember you.

Scars are the paler pain of survival received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury.

Maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of ‘not knowing.

Some people reflect light, some deflect it, you by some miracle, seem to collect it.

We all create stories to protect ourselves.

Knowledge is hot water on wool. It shrinks time and space.

Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground.

Prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book.

Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer.

Youth always tries to fill the void, an old man learns to live with it.

And where there is no Echo there is no description of space or love. There is only silence.

For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how.

Here then at long last is my darkness. No cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold.

Even the brightest magnesium flare can do little against such dark except blind the eyes of the one holding it. Thus one craves what by seeing one has in fact not seen.

Sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila.

I believe the structure of 'House of Leaves' is far more difficult to explain than it is to read. And while I'd like to lay claim to some extraordinary act of originality, truth is I'm only taking advantage of capabilities inherent in everyone.

Love of love written by the broken hearted, love of life written by the dead.

Of course the Neverlands vary a good deal. John's, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingos flying over it at which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it. John lived in a boat turned upside down on the sands, Michael in a wigwam, Wendy in a house of leaves deftly sewn together. John had no friends, Michael had friends at night, Wendy had a pet wolf forsaken by its parents.

Little solace comes to those who grieve when thoughts keep drifting as walls keep shifting and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind.

This great blue world of ours is but a house of leaves, moments before the wind.

I took my morning walk, I took my evening walk, I ate something, I thought about something, I wrote, I napped and dreamt something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of sum’thing has always been and always will be you.