BARHTES AND MAX STIRNER

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“I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.”
Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text


“Am I in love? –yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.”
Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments


“Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering.”
Roland Barthes

“You see the first thing we love is a scene. For love at first sight requires the very sign of its suddenness; and of all things, it is the scene which seems to be seen best for the first time: a curtain parts and what had not yet ever been seen is devoured by the eyes: the scene consecrates the object I am going to love. The context is the constellation of elements, harmoniously arranged that encompass the experience of the amorous subject…

Love at first sight is always spoken in the past tense. The scene is perfectly adapted to this temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, it is already a memory (the nature of a photograph is not to represent but to memorialize)… this scene has all the magnificence of an accident: I cannot get over having had this good fortune: to meet what matches my desire.

The gesture of the amorous embrace seems to fulfill, for a time, the subject’s dream of total union with the loved being: The longing for consummation with the other… In this moment, everything is suspended: time, law, prohibition: nothing is exhausted, nothing is wanted: all desires are abolished, for they seem definitively fulfilled… A moment of affirmation; for a certain time, though a finite one, a deranged interval, something has been successful: I have been fulfilled (all my desires abolished by the plenitude of their satisfaction).”
Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments


“As a jealous man, I suffer four times over: because I am jealous, because I blame myself for being so, because I fear that my jealousy will wound the other, because I allow myself to be subject to a banality: I suffer from being excluded, from being aggressive, from being crazy, and from being common.”
Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments


“Whoever will be free must make himself free. Freedom is no fairy gift to fall into a man’s lap. What is freedom? To have the will to be responsible for one’s self.”
Max Stirner

“The state calls its own violence law, but that of the individual, crime.”
Max Stirner

“Is not all the stupid chatter of most of our newspapers the babble of fools who suffer from the fixed idea of morality, legality, christianity and so forth, and only seem to go about free because the madhouse in which they walk takes in so broad a space?”
Max Stirner, The Ego and His Own: The Case of the Individual Against Authority

“The people is dead! Good-day, Self!”
Max Stirner

“We do not aspire to communal life but to a life apart.”
Max Stirner

“My power is my property. My power gives me property. My power am I myself, and through it am I my property.”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own

“Revolution is aimed at new arrangements; insurrection leads us no longer to let ourselves be arranged, but to arrange ourselves, and set no glittering hope on “institutions”
Max Stirner

“You call me the unhuman,” it might say to him, “and so I really am—for you; but I am so only because you bring me into opposition to the human, and I could despise myself only so long as I let myself be hypnotized into this opposition. I was contemptible because I sought my ‘better self’ outside me; I was the unhuman because I dreamed of the ‘human’; I resembled the pious who hunger for their ‘true self’ and always remain ‘poor sinners’; I thought of myself only in comparison to another; enough, I was not all in all, was not—unique.[102] But now I cease to appear to myself as the unhuman, cease to measure myself and let myself be measured by man, cease to recognize anything above me: consequently—adieu, humane critic! I only have been the unhuman, am it now no longer, but am the unique, yes, to your loathing, the egoistic; yet not the egoistic as it lets itself be measured by the human, humane, and unselfish, but the egoistic as the—unique.”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own

“He who is infatuated with Man leaves persons out of account so far as that infatuation extends, and floats in an ideal, sacred interest. Man, you see, is not a person, but an ideal, a spook”
Max Stirner

“The web of hypocrisy of today hangs on the frontiers of two domains, between which our time swings back and forth, attaching its fine threads of deception and self-deception. No longer vigorous enough to serve morality without doubt or weakening, not yet reckless enough to live wholly to egoism, it trembles now toward the one and now toward the other in the spider-web of hypocrisy, and, crippled by the curse of halfness, catches only miserable, stupid flies.”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own

“All things are nothing to me.”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own

“When the government designates as punishable all play of mind against the state, the moderate liberals come and opine that fun, satire, wit, humor, etc., must have free play anyhow, and genius must enjoy freedom. So not the individual man indeed, but still genius, is to be free. Here the state, or in its name the government, says with perfect right: He who is not for me is against me.”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own

“The men of the future will yet fight their way to many a liberty that we do not even miss.”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own

“In crime the egoist has hitherto asserted himself and mocked at the sacred; the break with the sacred, or rather of the sacred, may become general. A revolution never returns, but an immense, reckless, shameless, conscienceless, proud—crime, doesn’t it rumble in the distant thunder, and don’t you see how the sky grows ominously silent and gloomy?”
Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own


 

Iklan

SAMUEL BECKETT

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“Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.”
Samuel Beckett, Proust

“In the end he said, I am Mercier, alone, ill, in the cold, the wet, old, half mad, no way on, no way back. He eyed briefly, with nostalgia, the ghastly sky, the hideous earth. At your age, he said. Another act. Immaterial”
Samuel Beckett, Mercier and Camier

“Alone he watched the sky go out, dark deepen to its full. He kept his eyes on the engulfed horizon, for he knew from experience what last throes it was capable of. And in the dark he could hear better too, he could hear the sounds the long day had kept from him, human murmurs for example, and the rain on the water.”
Samuel Beckett, Mercier and Camier

“There’s my life, why not, it is one, if you like, if you must, I don’t say no, this evening. There has to be one, it seems, once there is speech, no need of a story, a story is not compulsory, just a life, that’s the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“How long have I been here, what a question, I’ve often wondered. And often I could answer, An hour, a month, a year, a century, depending on what I meant by here, and me, and being, and there I never went looking for extravagant meanings, there I never much varied, only the here would sometimes seem to vary. ”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“There’s my life, why not, it is one, if you like, if you must, I don’t say no, this evening. There has to be one, it seems, once there is speech, no need of a story, a story is not compulsory, just a life, that’s the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself whereas life alone is enough.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“I weep without interruption. It’s an unbroken flow of words and tears. With no pause for reflection. But I speak softer, every year a little softer. Perhaps. Slower too, every year a little slower. Perhaps. it is hard for me to judge. If so the pauses would be longer, between the words, the sentences, the syllables, the tears, I confuse them, the words and tears, my words are my tears, my eyes my mouth.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“Yes, I was my father and I was my son, I asked myself questions and answered as best I could, I had it told to me evening after evening, the same old story I knew by heart and couldn’t believe, or we walked together, hand in hand, silent, sunk in our worlds, each in his worlds, the hands forgotten in each other. That’s how I’ve held out till now. And this evening again it seems to be working, I’m in my arms, I’m holding myself in my arms, without much tenderness, but faithfully, faithfully. Sleep now, as under that ancient lamp, all twined together, tired out with so much talking, so much listening, so much toil and play.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“…and I’ll be able to go on, no, I’ll be able to stop, or start, another guzzle of lies but piping hot, it will last my time, it will be my time and place, my voice and silence, a voice of silence, the voice of my silence. It’s with such prospects they exhort you to have patience, whereas you are patient, and calm, somehow somewhere calm, what calm here, ah that’s an idea, say how calm it is here, and how fine I feel, and how silent I am, I’ll start right away, I’ll say what calm and silence, which nothing has ever broken, nothing will ever break, which saying I don’t break, or saying I’ll be saying, yes, I’ll say all that tomorrow, yes, tomorrow evening, some other evening, not this evening, this evening it’s too late, too late to gets things right, I’ll go to sleep, so that I may say, hear myself say, a little later, I’ve slept, he’s slept, but he won’t have slept, or else he’s sleeping now, he’ll have done nothing, nothing but go on, doing what, doing what he does, that is to say, I don’t know, giving up, that’s it, I’ll have gone on giving up, having had nothing, not being there.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“It’s not me, it’s not true, it’s not me, I’m far.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“Name, no, nothing is nameable, tell, no, nothing can be told, what then, I don’t know, I shouldn’t have begun.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“So I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended. But it was nothing, mere speechlessness due to long silence, as in the wood that darkens the mouth of hell, do you remember, I only just.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“I’m no longer with these assassins, in this bed of terror, but in my distant refuge, my hands twined together, my head bowed, weak, breathless, calm, free, and older than I’ll ever have been, if my calculations are correct. I’ll tell my story in the past none the less, as though it were a myth, or an old fable, for this evening I need another age in which I became what I was.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“What am I doing now, I’m trying to see where I am, so as to be able to go elsewhere, should occasion arise, or else simply to say, You have merely to wait till they come and fetch you, that’s my impression at times.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“I don’t know when I died. It always seemed to me I died old, about ninety years old, and what years, and that my body bore it out, from head to foot. But this evening, alone in my icy bed, I have the feeling I’ll be older than the day, the night, when the sky with all its lights fell upon me, the same I had so often gazed on since my first stumblings on the distant earth. For I’m too frightened this evening to listen to myself rot, waiting for the great red lapses of the heart, the tear sings at the caecal walls, and for the slow killings to finish in my skull, the assaults on unshakable pillars, the fornications with corpses. So I’ll tell myself a story, I’ll try and tell myself another story, to try and calm myself, and it’s there I feel I’ll be old, old, even older than the day I fell, calling for help, and it came. Or is it possible that in this story I have come back to life, after my death? No, it’s not like me to come back to life, after my death.”
Samuel Beckett, Stories and Texts for Nothing

“I’m all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing, coming together to say, fleeing one another to say, that I am they, all of them, those that merge, those that part, those that never meet, and nothing else, yes, something else, that I’m something quite different, a quite different thing, a wordless thing in an empty place, a hard shut dry cold black place, where nothing stirs, nothing speaks, and that I listen, and that I seek, like a caged beast born of caged beasts born of caged beasts born of caged beasts born in a cage and dead in a cage, born and then dead, born in a cage and then dead in a cage, in a word like a beast, in one of their words, like such a beast, and that I seek, like such a beast, with my little strength, such a beast, with nothing of its species left but fear and fury, no, the fury is past, nothing but fear, nothing of all its due but fear centupled, fear of its shadow, no, blind from birth, of sound then, if you like, we’ll have that, one must have something, it’s a pity, but there it is, fear of sound, fear of sounds, the sounds of beasts, the sounds of men, sounds in the daytime and sounds at night, that’s enough, fear of sounds all sounds, more or less, more or less fear, all sounds, there’s only one, continuous, day and night, what is it, it’s steps coming and going, it’s voices speaking for a moment, it’s bodies groping their way, it’s the air, it’s things, it’s the air among the things, that’s enough, that I seek, like it, no, not like it, like me, in my own way, what am I saying, after my fashion, that I seek, what do I seek now, what it is, it must be that, it can only be that, what it is, what it can be, what what can be, what I seek, no, what I hear, I hear them, now it comes back to me, they say I seek what it is I hear, I hear them, now it comes back to me, what it can possibly be, and where it can possibly come from, since all is silent here, and the walls thick, and how I manage, without feeling an ear on me, or a head, or a body, or a soul, how I manage, to do what, how I manage, it’s not clear, dear dear, you say it’s not clear, something is wanting to make it clear, I’ll seek, what is wanting, to make everything clear, I’m always seeking something, it’s tiring in the end, and it’s only the beginning.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable

“…you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know, I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable

“Dear incomprehension, it’s thanks to you I’ll be myself, in the end.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable

“I don’t know: perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream. (That would surprise me.) I’ll wake, in the silence, and never sleep again. (It will be I?) Or dream (dream again), dream of a silence, a dream silence, full of murmurs (I don’t know, that’s all words), never wake (all words, there’s nothing else).

You must go on, that’s all I know.

They’re going to stop, I know that well: I can feel it. They’re going to abandon me. It will be the silence, for a moment (a good few moments). Or it will be mine? The lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts? It will be I?

You must go on.

I can’t go on.

You must go on.

I’ll go on. You must say words, as long as there are any – until they find me, until they say me. (Strange pain, strange sin!) You must go on. Perhaps it’s done already. Perhaps they have said me already. Perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story. (That would surprise me, if it opens.)

It will be I? It will be the silence, where I am? I don’t know, I’ll never know: in the silence you don’t know.

You must go on.

I can’t go on.

I’ll go on.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable


“The search for the means to put an end to things, an end to speech, is what enables the discourse to continue.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable



“I’ll make myself a memory, I have only to listen, the voice will tell me everything, tell it to me again, everything I need, in dribs and drabs, breathless, it’s like a confession, a last confession, you think it’s finished, then it starts off again, there were so many sins, the memory is so bad, the words don’t come, the words fail, the breath fails…”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable


“The one outside of life we always were in the end, all our long vain life long. Who is not spared by the mad need to speak, to think, to know where one is, where one was, during the wild dream, up above, under the skies, venturing forth at night. The one ignorant of himself and silent, ignorant of his silence and silent, who could not be and gave up trying. Who crouches in their midst who see themselves in him and in their eyes stares his unchanging stare.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable


“No matter, no matter how, they are doing the best they can, with the miserable means at their disposal, a voice, a little light, poor devils, that’s what they’re paid for, they say, No sign of hardening, no sign of softening, impossible to say, no matter, it’s a good average, we only have to continue, one day he’ll understand, one day he’ll thrill, the little spasm will come, a change in the eye, and cast him up among us. To be on the watch and never sight, to listen for the moan that never comes, that’s not a life worth living either. And yet it’s theirs.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable


“the question may be asked, off the record, why time doesn’t pass, from you, why it piles up all about you, instant on instant, on all sides, deeper and deeper, thicker and thicker, your time, other’s time, the time of the ancient dead and the dead yet unborn, why it buries you grain by grain neither dead nor alive, with no memory of anything, no hope of anything, no knowledge of anything, no history and no prospects, buried under the seconds…”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable


“Let there then be light, it will not necessarily be disastrous. Or let there be none, we’ll manage without it. But these lights, in the plural, which rear aloft, swell, sweep down and go out hissing, reminding one of the naja, perhaps the moment has come to throw them into the balance and have done with this tedious equipoise, at last.”
Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable


“story … if you could finish it … you could rest … you could sleep … not before … oh I know … the ones I’ve finished … thousands and one … all I ever did … in my life … with my life … saying to myself … finish this one … it’s the right one … then rest …”


“Personally of course I regret everything.
Not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need,
not a grief, not a joy, not a girl, not a boy,
not a doubt, not a trust, not a scorn, not a lust,
not a hope, not a fear, not a smile, not a tear,
not a name, not a face, no time, no place…that I do not regret, exceedingly.
An ordure, from beginning to end.”
Samuel Beckett, Watt


“We are no longer the same, you wiser but not sadder, and I sadder but not wiser, for wiser I could hardly become without grave personal inconvenience, whereas sorrow is a thing you can keep adding to all your life long, is it not, like a stamp or an egg collection, without feeling very much the worse for it, is it not.”
Samuel Beckett, Watt


“But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.”
Samuel Beckett, Watt


“To be together again, after so long, who love the sunny wind, the windy sun, in the sun, in the wind, that is perhaps something, perhaps something.”
Samuel Beckett, Watt


“Nothing is more real than nothing.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies


“I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies


“But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies


“Words and images run riot in my head, pursuing, flying, clashing, merging, endlessly. But beyond this tumult there is a great calm, and a great indifference, never really to be troubled by anything again.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies


“Live and invent. I have tried. I must have tried. Invent. It is not the word. Neither is to live. No matter. I have tried. […] I say living without knowing what it is. I tried to live without knowing what I was trying. Perhaps I have lived afterall, without knowing.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies

“I shall not speak of my sufferings. Cowering deep down among them I feel nothing. It is there I die, unbeknown to my stupid flesh. That which is seen, that which cries and writhes, my witless remains. Somewhere in the turmoil thought struggles on, it too wide of the mark. It too seeks me, as it always has, where I am not to be found.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies

“I could die today, if I wished, merely by making a little effort, if I could wish, if I could make an effort. But it is just as well to let myself die, quietly, without rushing things. Something must have changed. I will not weigh upon the balance any more, one way or the other.”
Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies

“He was split, one part of him never left this mental chamber that pictured itself as a sphere full of light fading into dark, because there was no way out. But motion in this world depended on rest in the world outside. A man is in bed, wanting to sleep. A rat is behind the wall at his head, wanting to move. The man hears the rat fidget and cannot sleep, the rat hears the man fidget and dares not move. They are both unhappy, one fidgeting and the other waiting, or both happy, the rat moving and the man sleeping.”
Samuel Beckett, Murphy

“Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.”
Samuel Beckett, Molloy

“Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.”
Samuel Beckett, Molloy


“Vladimir: Did I ever leave you?
Estragon: You let me go.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It’s awful.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“There’s man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say? It is true that when with folded arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help of his congeners without the least reflexion, or else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets. But that is not the question. What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come — ”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“Estragon: Nothing to be done.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“Vladimir: I don’t understand.
Estragon: Use your intelligence, can’t you?
Vladimir uses his intelligence.
Vladimir: (finally) I remain in the dark.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“ESTRAGON: Don’t touch me! Don’t question me! Don’t speak to me! Stay with me!
VLADIMIR: Did I ever leave you?
ESTRAGON: You let me go.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“Estragon: People are bloody ignorant apes.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time! It’s abominable! When! When! One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we’ll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you? They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“VLADIMIR: What do they say?
ESTRAGON: They talk about their lives.
VLADIMIR: To have lived is not enough for them.
ESTRAGON: They have to talk about it.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“ESTRAGON: I can’t go on like this.
VLADIMIR: That’s what you think.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“POZZO:
I am blind.
(Silence.)
ESTRAGON:
Perhaps he can see into the future.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“There is man in his entirety, blaming his shoe when his foot is guilty.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot



“We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“The essential doesn’t change.”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“We wait. We are bored. (He throws up his hand.) No, don’t protest, we are bored to death, there’s no denying it. Good. A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let’s get to work! (He advances towards the heap, stops in his stride.) In an instant all will vanish and we’ll be alone more, in the midst of nothingness!”
Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot


“HAMM:
In my house.
(pause.)
One day you’ll be blind, like me. You’ll be sitting there, a speck in the void, in the dark, for ever, like me.
(pause.)
One day you’ll say to yourself, I’m tired, I’ll sit down, and you’ll go and sit down. Then you’ll say, I’m hungry, I’ll get up and get something to eat. But you won’t get up. You’ll say, I shouldn’t have sat down, but since I have I’ll sit on a little longer, then I’ll get up and get something to eat. But you won’t get up and you won’t get anything to eat.
(pause.)
You’ll look at the wall a while, then you’ll say, I’ll close my eyes, perhaps have a little sleep, after that I’ll feel better, and you’ll close them. And when you open them again there’ll be no wall any more.
(pause.)
Infinite emptiness will be all around you, all the resurrected dead of all the ages wouldn’t fill it, and there you’ll be like a little bit of grit in the middle of the steppe.
(pause.)
Yes, one day you’ll know what it is, you’ll be like me, except that you won’t have anyone with you, because you won’t have had pity on anyone and because there won’t be anyone left to have pity on.
(pause.)”
Samuel Beckett, Endgame


“We are all born mad. Some remain so.”
Samuel Beckett


“Dance first. Think later. It’s the natural order.”
Samuel Beckett


 

POEM – QUOTES EXISTENTIALISM


“Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous – to poetry. But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.”
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales


“It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death.”
Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain


“In books we never find anything but ourselves. Strangely enough, that always gives us great pleasure, and we say the author is a genius.”
Thomas Mann


“Nothing is more curious and awkward than the relationship of two people who only know each other with their eyes — who meet and observe each other daily, even hourly and who keep up the impression of disinterest either because of morals or because of a mental abnormality. Between them there is listlessness and pent-up curiosity, the hysteria of an unsatisfied, unnaturally suppressed need for communion and also a kind of tense respect. Because man loves and honors man as long as he is not able to judge him, and desire is a product of lacking knowledge.”
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales


“A solitary, unused to speaking of what he sees and feels, has mental experiences which are at once more intense and less articulate than those of a gregarious man. They are sluggish, yet more wayward, and never without a melancholy tinge. Sights and impressions which others brush aside with a glance, a light comment, a smile, occupy him more than their due; they sink silently in, they take on meaning, they become experience, emotion, adventure. Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous – to poetry. But also, it gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.”
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales


“He who loves the more is the inferior and must suffer.”
Thomas Mann


“This was love at first sight, love everlasting: a feeling unknown, unhoped for, unexpected–in so far as it could be a matter of conscious awareness; it took entire possession of him, and he understood, with joyous amazement, that this was for life.”
Thomas Mann


“A harmful truth is better than a useful lie.”
Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain


“It is most certainly a good thing that the world knows only the beautiful opus but not its origins, not the conditions of its creation; for if people knew the sources of the artist’s inspiration, that knowledge would often confuse them, alarm them, and thereby destroy the effects of excellence. strange hours! strangely enervating labor! bizarrely fertile intercourse of the mind with a body!”
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice and Other Tales


“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”
André Malraux


“What is Man? A miserable little pile of secrets.”
André Malraux


“The great mystery is not that we should have been thrown down here at random between the profusion of matter and that of the stars; it is that from our very prison we should draw, from our own selves, images powerful enough to deny our own nothingness.”
André Malraux


“The attempt to force human beings to despise themselves is what I call hell.”
André Malraux


“Often the difference between a successful person and a failure is not one has better abilities or ideas, but the courage that one has to bet on one’s ideas, to take a calculated risk – and to act.”
André Malraux


“When You Are Old”

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”
W.B. Yeats


“I will arise and go now,
And go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there,
Of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there,
A hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there,
For peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning
To where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer,
And noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings

I will arise and go now,
For always night and day
I hear lake water lapping
With low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway
Or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.”
W.B. Yeats



“THE FATHER: But don’t you see that the whole trouble lies here? In words, words. Each one of us has within him a whole world of things, each man of us his own special world. And how can we ever come to an understanding if I put in the words I utter the sense and value of things as I see them; while you who listen to me must inevitably translate them according to the conception of things each one of you has within himself. We think we understand each other, but we never really do.”
Luigi Pirandello, Six Characters In Search of an Author



“No name. No memory today of yesterday’s name; of today’s name, tomorrow. If the name is the thing; if a name in us is the concept of every thing placed outside of us; and without a name you don’t have the concept, and the thing remains in us as if blind, indistinct and undefined: well then, let each carve this name that I bore among men, a funeral epigraph, on the brow of that image in which I appeared to him, and then leave it in peace, and let there be no more talk about it. It is fitting for the dead. For those who have concluded. I am alive and I do not conclude. Life does not conclude. And life knows nothing of names. This tree, tremulous pulse of new leaves. I am this tree. Tree, cloud; tomorrow book or wind: the book I read, the wind I drink. All outside, wandering.”
Luigi Pirandello, One, None, and One Hundred Thousand


“This is the real drama for me; the belief that we all, you see, think of ourselves as one single person: but it’s not true: each of us is several different people, and all these people live inside us. With one person we seem like this and with another we seem very different. But we always have the illusion of being the same person for everybody and of always being the same person in everything we do. But it’s not true! It’s not true! We find this out for ourselves very clearly when by some terrible chance we’re suddenly stopped in the middle of doing something and we’re left dangling there, suspended. We realize then, that every part of us was not involved in what we’d been doing and that it would be a dreadful injustice of other people to judge us only by this one action as we dangle there, hanging in chains, fixed for all eternity, as if the whole of one’s personality were summed up in that single, interrupted action.”
Luigi Pirandello


“We all have a world of things inside ourselves and each one of us has his own private world. How can we understand each other if the words I use have the sense and the value that I expect them to have, but whoever is listening to me inevitably thinks that those same words have a different sense and value, because of the private world he has inside himself, too.”
Luigi Pirandello, Six Characters in Search of an Author


“But only in order to know if you, as you really are now, see yourself as you once were with all the illusions that were yours then, with all the things both inside and outside of you as they seemed to you – as they were then indeed for you. Well, sir, if you think of all those illusions that mean nothing to you now, of all those things which don’t even seem to you to exist any more, while once they were for you, don’t you feel that – I won’t say these boards – but the very earth under your feet is sinking away from you when you reflect that in the same way this you as you feel it today – all this present reality of yours – is fated to seem a mere illusion to you tomorrow?”
Luigi Pirandello, Six Characters in Search of an Author


“I present myself to you in a form suitable to the relationship I wish to achieve to you.”
Luigi Pirandello


“At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.”
Frida Kahlo


“I love you more than my own skin and even though you don’t love me the same way, you love me anyways, don’t you? And if you don’t, I’ll always have the hope that you do, and i’m satisfied with that. Love me a little. I adore you.”
Frida Kahlo


“I hope the exit is joyful and i hope never to return.”
Frida Kahlo


“Nothing is absolute. Everything changes, everything moves, everything revolves, everything flies and goes away.”
Frida Kahlo


“I paint flowers so they will not die.”
Frida Kahlo


“Nothing is worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing.”
Frida Kahlo


“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.”
Frida Kahlo


“I think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive.”
Frida Kahlo


“I want to be inside your darkest everything”
Frida Kahlo, The Diary of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait


“I wish I could do whatever I liked behind the curtain of “madness”. Then: I’d arrange flowers, all day long, I’d paint; pain, love and tenderness, I would laugh as much as I feel like at the stupidity of others, and they would all say: “Poor thing, she’s crazy!” (Above all I would laugh at my own stupidity.) I would build my world which while I lived, would be in agreement with all the worlds. The day, or the hour, or the minute that I lived would be mine and everyone else’s – my madness would not be an escape from “reality”.”
Frida Kahlo


“You deserve a lover who wants you disheveled, with everything and all the reasons that wake you up in a haste and the demons that won’t let you sleep.
You deserve a lover who makes you feel safe, who can consume this world whole if he walks hand in hand with you; someone who believes that his embraces are a perfect match with your skin.
You deserve a lover who wants to dance with you, who goes to paradise every time he looks into your eyes and never gets tired of studying your expressions.
You deserve a lover who listens when you sing, who supports you when you feel shame and respects your freedom; who flies with you and isn’t afraid to fall.
You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry.”
Frida Kahlo


“I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.”
Frida Kahlo


“You deserve the best, the very best, because you are one of the few people in this lousy world who are honest to themselves, and that is the only thing that really counts.”
Frida Kahlo


“pain, pleasure and death are no more than a process for existence. The revolutionary struggle in this process is a doorway open to intelligence”
Frida Kahlo, The Diary of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait


“I love you more than my own skin.”
Frida Kahlo


“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”
D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover


“But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions.”
D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love


“Love is never a fulfillment. Life is never a thing of continuous bliss. There is no paradise. Fight and laugh and feel bitter and feel bliss: and fight again. Fight, fight. That is life.”
D.H. Lawrence


“Nobody knows you.
You don’t know yourself.
And I, who am half in love with you,
What am I in love with?
My own imaginings?”
D.H. Lawrence, The Complete Poems


“I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I’m sure life is all wrong because it has become much too visual – we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we can only see. I’m sure that is entirely wrong.”
D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love


“Life is ours to be spent, not to
be saved.”
D.H. Lawrence


“I love trying things and discovering how I hate them.”
D.H. Lawrence


“I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.”
D.H. Lawrence


“Instead of chopping yourself down to fit the world, chop the world down to fit yourself. ”
D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love


“There’s lots of good fish in the sea…maybe…but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you’re not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea.”
D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover


“no form of love is wrong, so long as it is love, and you yourself honour what you are doing. Love has an extraordinary variety of forms! And that is all there is in life, it seems to me. But I grant you, if you deny the variety of love you deny love altogether. If you try to specialize love into one set of accepted feelings, you wound the very soul of love. Love must be multi-form, else it is just tyranny, just death”
D.H. Lawrence



“the damage done to us during our childhood cannot be undone, since we cannot change anything in our past. we can repair ourselves and gain our lost integrity by choosing to look more honestly at the knowledge that is stored inside our bodies and bringing that knowledge closer to our awareness.”
Alice Miller


“Money poisons you when you’ve got it, and starves you when you haven’t.”
D.H. Lawrence


“The grandiose person is never really free; first because he is excessively dependent on admiration from others, and second, because his self-respect is dependent on qualities, functions, and achievements that can suddenly fail.”
Alice Miller, The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self


“Contempt is the weapon of the weak and a defense against one’s own despised and unwanted feelings.”
Alice Miller

SOPHOCLES – AESCHYLUS – EURIPIDES

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“You can kill a man but you cant kill a idea.”
Sophocles


“How dreadful the knowledge of the truth can be
When there’s no help in truth.”
Sophocles, Oedipus Rex


“We have only a little time to please the living. But all eternity to love the dead.”
Sophocles, Antigone


Death is not the worst thing; rather, when one who craves death cannot attain even that wish.”
Sophocles, Electra


“The happiest life is to be without thought”
Sophocles


“It’s not the oath that makes us believe the man, but the man the oath”
Aeschylus


“The reward of suffering is experience.”
Aeschylus



“Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish.”
Euripides, The Bacchae


“Hate is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour”
Euripides, Medea

WHOLESOME – WHOLENESS – NOTHING – DEATH QUOTES

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Searching for wholeness within yourself means that you stop relying on others to fill you or complete you. Instead of falling into a relationship with significant other to find meaning, you look for meaning within yourself, within the things you do, within your emotions and perspectives and opinions. And as you do this, you discover that you were never lacking. You never needed someone’s love to fill you, as if there were parts missing. You have always been, and will always be, completely whole and full on your own. —via thoughtcatalog


You appreciate yourself for the imperfect, complex, and astounding being you are.

Discovering your wholeness means falling in love with yourself. It means seeing, for the first time, how incredible you are. It means taking the time to put yourself first, to pamper yourself, and to celebrate each success. It means building yourself up after you fall and speaking words of love and encouragement to your heart when you’re down. It means understanding that you are imperfect, but taking pride in your flaws and failures, as they have created the person you are today. It means giving yourself the pure, raw love you’ve been giving everyone else for so long. It means seeing your worth—both body and soul.


You realize the magnitude of your spirit and the strength within your skin.

Finding your wholeness means realizing how incredibly strong you are. It means resurfacing and taking a breath of fresh air, confident and renewed. It means noticing the way your muscles move, the way your body shifts, the way your spirit brightens an entire room as you walk in. It means acknowledging all that you’ve pushed through and will continue to push through, every single day. Finding your wholeness means seeing, in a new and beautiful light, how truly astounding you are.


You discover that you were always whole, always complete, and never lacking on your own.

Searching for wholeness within yourself means that you stop relying on others to fill you or complete you. Instead of falling into a relationship with a significant other to find meaning, you look for meaning within yourself, within the things you do, within your emotions and perspectives and opinions. And as you do this, you discover that you were never lacking. You never needed someone’s love to fill you, as if there were parts missing. You have always been, and will always be, completely whole and full on your own.


“Like religion, war demands its persecutions, its holocausts, its lurid heroic cruelties; like them, it is noble, primitive, brutal, and mad. Now, as in the past, religion, lagging behind private consciences through the weight of tradition, steels the hearts of men against mercy and their minds against truth. If the world is to be saved, men must learn to be noble without being cruel, to be filled with faith and yet open to truth, to be inspired by great purposes without hating those who try to thwart them. But before this can happen, men must first face the terrible realization that the gods before whom they have bowed down were false gods and the sacrifices they have made were vain.”

—Bertrand Russell, Why Men Fight (1917), Chapter III, p.116

“Why Men Fight” was written in response to the devastation of World War I, “Why Men Fight” lays out Bertrand Russell’s ideas on war, pacifism, reason, impulse, and personal liberty. Russell argues that when individuals live passionately, they will have no desire for war or killing. Conversely, excessive restraint or reason causes us to live unnaturally and with hostility toward those who are unlike ourselves.

Image: Abandoned child sits holding his stuffed animal in the rubble of his home after a V2 bomb hit, London, January 1945. At the time of the photograph the child is unaware his parents lie buried dead underneath in this rubble. The orphaned boy survived the war.



I may be an abyss.
But at least I’m filed with nothings.
That still exist.

Reach inside my depths.
Grasp for something tangible.
Explore the negative.

Spaces.

Delve deeper.
Deeper.
All the biotic coolness to wrap
Lethargically.
Between your fingers.


Meaninglessness

The reason dying is so easy is because death has no meaning… And the reason death has no meaning is because life has no meaning. All the same, have fun!

Janne Teller, Nothing…


“Meaning is not something you can sell”
Janne Teller, Nothing


“We cried because we had lost something and gained something else. And because it hurt both losing and gaining. And because we knew what we had lost but weren’t as yet able to put into words what it was we had gained.”
Janne Teller, Nothing


“We were supposed to amount to something. Something was the same as someone, and even if nobody ever said so out loud, it was hardly left unspoken, either. It was just in the air, or in the time, or in fence surrounding the school, or in our pillows, or in the soft toys that after having served us so loyally had now been unjustly discarded and left to gather dust in attics or basements. I hadn’t known.”
Janne Teller, Nothing


Life has taught me that you can’t control someone’s loyalty, No matter how good you are to them, doesn’t mean that they will treat you the same,. No matter how much they mean to you, doesn’t mean that they will value you the same. Sometimes the people you love the most, turn out to be the people you can trust the least. Sometimes people come in our life to make us learn something, so that we can learn from them.


‘I remember mystep father had beated me with hanger, pieces of wood and all kind of stuffs. After every beating he would tell me, “you hurting me more than that i’ve hurted you. I did it cause I love you” it is kinda communicate me with kind of wrong message about what love was..’

‘So many years, I thought love was, It is all about hurt, and I hurt everybody that I love.. and I measured love by how much pain someone hurted by me.’


If you were to stab me in the back, i would say sorry for bleeding on you