He's always been something like a star to me — Nojiko Hayakawa
He's always been something like a star to me — Nojiko Hayakawa
He's always been something like a star to me — Nojiko Hayakawa
He's always been something like a star to me — Nojiko Hayakawa
He's always been something like a star to me — Nojiko Hayakawa
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He's always been something like a star to me

— Nojiko Hayakawa
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sad star yozora no sumikko de

More “Sad” Quotes

From what I could see, men or women, children or adults, young or aged, rich or poor, war was making everyone equal. — Alephonsion Deng
I am living in a nightmare, from which from time to time I wake in sleep. — Ursula K. Le Guin
HOW ANGELS SLEEP. Unsoundly. They toss and turn, trying to understand the mystery of the living. They know so little abo — Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
But sleep didn't come. She could hear Jace's soft piano playing through the walls, but that wasn't what was keeping her — Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes
I have fallen into an abyss. I live in a world so curious, so strange. Of the dream that was my life, this is my nightma — Camille Claudel
My life, as it passes thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sl — Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein
I inherited this longing. I was addicted to it. And so I was at home with those who wanted and never had enough. I was a — Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora
And the worst thing about it was that you began to feel as if you had always lived on that ship, in that darkness, and t — C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair
Nightmares always recur, but never our most beautiful dreams. — Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora
I slowly lost any dream for myself. No one warned me of this, that the stars in New York can infect the light inside, th — Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora
We are all cursed. We live in the era of the curse. A world that cannot be fixed. The best thing would be an alien ship. — Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora
How badly arranged the world is. What is the purpose of ugliness, suffering, sadness? Why our powerless dreams? Why ever — Gustave Flaubert, Correspondance