Quotes from Luke Davies

In the end, life can be seen to be inconsequential, in the way that nothing matters on some vast evolutionary scale. But everything matters, and we know that most when life seems most horrific, when at each instant of time, all the space around us is everything there is.

What was it about love? Coming down off heroin, it was so hard to think of anything but pain. When we were stoned, we loved each other, we touched each other, we laughed a lot, it was us against the world.

I made a commitment to myself to try to keep out of trouble. I sincerely believed that this terrible momentum was a thing I could impose my will on, something that could be slowed down.

Imperceptibly, more time passes when I'm not remembering our every moment together, not recreating our every conversation, re-imagining our love-making. It is immeasurably sad.

Love could be fractured and serve different purposes, and that intense love could be divided, between people just as easily as between moments of time.

If time stood still, and we could choose the time, the best time, then love without pain would be all I know.

In the presence of their love I sensed my lonliness, and I understood for a moment, clearly, that deep and basic human desire for companionship at depth.

When you think you are in love, you don't want to know about the things that could end it.

When you can stop you don't want to, and when you want to stop, you can't...

When you think you are in love, you don't want to know about the things that could end it.

Some people are attracted to sickness, to the kind of madness where sparks fly off the head, to the incoherence of despair, masked by nervous energy, which winds up looking like bewildered joy.

I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act. We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where the waters begin." -In the yellow time of pollen

Comfort is beauty muted by heroin. Sadness is beauty drained by lack of it.

I am so far removed, from everything, that I can't even cry. There's a chasm between me, where I am, and the world I am in. The world I move my feet through. The atmosphere I breathe is like golden syrup, twenty-seven atmospheres thick. I'm wading through the world, consumed with … consumed. And I'm wading through the swamp that my body has become.

And I come to realise that all my small todays, the way I act, will lead into my tomorrows.

You're beautiful, but you're somewhere else. That's okay. I can handle that. But we won't continue as friends, not just now. I like you as a lover, not a friend.

If time stood still, and we could choose the time, the best time, then love without pain would be all I know.

Very quickly I begin to understand the selfishness of my love, the inappropriateness of my relationships, when I realise that every time I fuck it feels as if I am wrestling with demons.

I'm hurling all the little joys against the greater sadness. The sadness is a giant weight. It presses down. Its mean: "What's the point?

I learnt too late that what is most important to us is always most precious at the moment it occurs, and it is precious in its absolute immediacy and not as some vague confirmation of future directions; since the only certain fact, aside from death, is the flimsiness of everything.

Everything comes to nothing in the end, I suppose. Or at least, nothing happens exactly the way we imagine it.

Imperceptibly, more time passes when I'm not remembering our every moment together, not recreating our every conversation, re-imagining our love-making. It is immeasurably sad.

It's not that photography recaptures the world you have been in; more that it creates a new one: photographs are like Post-It Notes reminding us of the deep architectonic forms of space and thought.

I can no longer cry. I groan a few times. Through the slits that are my eyes, I stare at my shoes, at the gray swirls of the concrete floor, at the bright orange lid of my syringe. And I realize—it's a kind of horror—that this is my life. And I can't stop. I just can't stop. I can't stop anymore.