I, too, felt ready to start life all over again. It was as if that great rush of anger had washed me clean, emptied me of hope, and, gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, for the first time, the first, I laid my heart open to the benign indifference… Continue reading Albert Camus
I Know Last night, in the water where Barnett Newman’s line disappeared, I drowned. I swam to the surface, like a black, dark-blue luminous blossom. It’s terrible to be a flower. The world stopped. Mute, like velvet, I opened, perhaps for good. Before, with Tomaž Brejc, we talked about the mystique of finance, about the… Continue reading Tomaž Šalamun
When the soul suffers too much, it develops a taste for misfortune. — Albert Camus
There is something divine in mindless beauty. ― Albert Camus, A Happy Death. (Penguin Books, Limited (UK) February 28, 2002) Originally published 1971.
Yes, we have lost track of the light, the mornings, the holy innocence of those who forgive themselves. — Albert Camus, The Fall (Vintage Books, 1957)
I like people who dream or talk to themselves interminably; I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere. — Albert Camus, The Fall. (Vintage Books May 7, 1991) Originally published 1956.
Out of long nails I weld limbs for my new body. Out of old rags, my entrails. A coat of carrion will be my coat of solitude. I pluck my eye from the depths of the marsh. Out of the devoured plates of disgust I will build my hut. My world will be a world… Continue reading Tomaž Šalamun