“
I’ve lived so little that I tend to imagine I’m not going to die; it seems improbable that human existence can be reduced to so little; one imagines, in spite of oneself, that sooner or later something is bound to happen. A big mistake. A life can just as well be both empty and short. The days slip by indifferently, leaving neither trace nor memory; and then all of a sudden they stop.
Michel Houellebecq, Whatever 

(Source: poeticsofdeath, via mirroir)
This was posted 12 months ago. It has 168 notes.
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