The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul? — Oscar Wilde, De Profundis. (Fontamara, September 12th 1993) Originally published 1905.… Continue reading Oscar Wilde
By four o’clock, I’ve discounted suicide in favor of killing everyone else in the entire world instead. ― Warren Ellis, Transmetropolitan, Vol. 3: Year of the Bastard. (Vertigo; Cmc edition, September 1, 1999)
Just always be waiting for me. ― J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan, Henry Holt and Co. (BYR); 100 Anv edition (October 1, 2003) Originally published 1911.
I love you, rotten, Delicious rottenness. …wonderful are the hellish experiences, Orphic, delicate Dionysos of the Underworld. ― D. H. Lawrence, from “Medlars and Sorb-Apples,” Birds Beasts and Flowers. (Penguin Uk, July 29, 1999) Originally published 1923.
You can be lonely anywhere, but there is a particular flavour to the loneliness that comes from living in a city, surrounded by millions of people. ― Olivia Laing, The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone. (Picador, 2016)
This is what I know about love, that it is tested every day, and what is not renewed is lost. One chooses either to care more or to care less. Once the choice is to care less, then there is no stopping the momentum of goodbye. Each loved thing slips away. There is no stopping… Continue reading Helen Humphreys
I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Can’t bring back time. Like holding water in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would you? — James Joyce, Ulysses. (Sylvia Beach 2 February 1922)