For to know nothing is nothing, not to want to know anything likewise, but to be beyond knowing anything, to know you are beyond knowing anything, that is when peace enters in, to the soul of the incurious seeker. ― Samuel Beckett, Molloy. (Grove Press, January 12, 1994) Originally published 1951. Advertisements
But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. ― George Eliot, Middlemarch. (Signet 2004) Originally published 1871.
About here, she thought, dabbling her fingers in the water, a ship had sunk, and she murmured, dreamily, half asleep, how we perished, each alone. — Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse. (Pomona Press, January 1, 2006) Originally published 1927.
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… Continue reading Samuel Beckett
But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin. ― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World. (Harper Perennial Modern Classics 1998) Originally published 1932.
At times I suffer from the strangest sense of detachment from myself and the world around me; I seem to watch it all from the outside, from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all. — H. G. Wells, War Of The Worlds. (Modern Library;… Continue reading H. G. Wells
He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn’t need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.… Continue reading William Faulkner