Osamu Dazai Quotes

What uneasiness lies in being loved.

For someone like myself in whom the ability to trust others is so cracked and broken that I am wretchedly timid and am forever trying to read the expression on people's faces.

The weak fear happiness itself. They can harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness

A true artist is an ugly man.

Now even if I die, no one will be so grieved as to do himself bodily harm.

I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.

Victims. Victims of a transitional period of morality. That is what we both certainly are.

But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.

Mine has been a life of much shame. I can't even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.

Addiction is perhaps a sickness of the spirit.

I want to spend my time with people who don't look to be respected. But such good people won't want to spend their time with me.

Virtue and vice are concepts invented by human beings, words for a morality which human beings arbitrarily devised.

Last year nothing happened The year before nothing happened And the year before that nothing happened.

Labeled a delinquent. That's the only kind of label I want to be crucified under.

Whenever I was asked what I wanted my first impulse was to answer "Nothing." The thought went through my mind that it didn't make any difference, that nothing was going to make me happy.

Scoundrels [...] simply don't die. The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people. [...] Scoundrels live a long time. The beautiful die young.

To be a friend of the weak-that is the artist's point of departure as well as his ultimate goal.

What did he mean by "society"? The plural of human beings?

The real things are apt to be deviant.

The weak fear happiness itself.

The world, after all, was still a place of bottomless horror. It was by no means a place of childlike simplicity where everything could be settled by a simple then-and-there decision.

As for love . . . no, having once written that word I can write nothing more.

Then what's a synonym for woman?" "Entrails." "You're not very poetic, are you? Well, then, what's the antonym for entrails?" "Milk.

It would seem that the more irresponsible and crafty one is, the more likely one is to have a talent for storytelling.

It isn't that I dislike artists, but I can't stand anyone who puts on those ponderous airs of a man of character.

What is society but an individual? [] The ocean is not society; it is individuals. This was how I managed to gain a modicum of freedom from my terror at the illusion of the ocean called the world.

At times everything grows misty and dark before my eyes, and I feel that the strength of my whole body is oozing away through my finger tips.

I have always found the female of the human species many times more difficult to understand than the male.

I have often felt that I would find it more complicated, troublesome and unpleasant to ascertain the feelings by which a woman lives than to plumb the innermost thoughts of an earthworm.

In my case such an expression as 'to be fallen for' or even 'to be loved' is not in the least appropriate; perhaps it describes the situation more accurately to say that I was 'looked after.

I wonder if there is anyone who is not depraved. A wearisome thought.I want money. Unless I have it....In my sleep, a natural death!

This I want to believe implicitly: Man was born for love and revolution.

He could only consider me as the living corpse of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an idiot ghost.

In spite of my suffering, at the thought that I was sure to end up by killing myself, I cried aloud and burst into tears.

Last year nothing happenedThe year before nothing happenedAnd the year before that nothinghappened.

The wound has gradually become dearer to me than my own flesh and blood, and I have thought its pain to be the emotion of the wound as it lived or even its murmur of affection

For the first time in my life I realized what a horrible, miserable, salvationless hell it is to be without money.

Even if Mary gives birth to a child who is not her husband's, if she has a shining pride, they become a holy mother and child.

After being hurt by the world so much, they began to see the demons within humans. So without hiding it through trickery, they worked to express it.

Anyway, you can be sure of one thing, a man's got to fake just to stay alive.

I would far prefer to be told simply to go and die. It's straightforward. But people almost never say, "Die!" Paltry, prudent hypocrites!

When you find yourself looking ridiculous, reasoning isn't worth a damn.

Humanity? Don't be silly. I know. It is knocking down your fellow-men for the sake of your own happiness.

I am afraid because I can so clearly foresee my own life rotting away of itself, like a leaf that rots without falling, while I pursue my round of existence from day to day.

It is painful for the plant which is myself to live in the atmosphere and light of this world. Somewhere an element is lacking which would permit me to continue.

Any connoisseur knows you've got to be drunk to really enjoy a good romance.

Even now it comes as a shock if by chance I notice in the street a face resembling someone I know however slightly, and I am at once seized by a shivering violent enough to make me dizzy.

I have sometimes thought that I have been burdened with a pack of ten misfortunes, any one of which if borne by my neighbor would be enough to make a murderer out of him.

Show me what you've written, " I said, although I wanted desperately to avoid looking at it.

I yearned for everything long gone.