I love the one whose soul is overfull so that he forgets himself, and all things are in him; I love the one who has a free spirit and a free heart: thus his head is only the entrails of his heart, but his heart drives him to go under. — Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke… Continue reading Friedrich Nietzsche
I would like to write you so simply, so simply, so simply. Without having anything ever catch the eye, excepting yours alone, … so that above all the language remains self-evidently secret, as if it were being invented at every step, and as if it were burning immediately. — Jacques Derrida, The Post Card: From… Continue reading Jacques Derrida
…in crucial times, when the perishability of so many values is revealed, all human dignity consists in believing in their return. — Emmanuel Levinas, Proper Names. (Stanford University Press, February 1, 1997) Originally published 1975.
[P]hilosophy is the art of masking inner torments. — Emil M. Cioran, On the Heights of Despair. (University Of Chicago Press,1996) Originally published 1933.
I’ve often thought that there isn’t any “I” at all; that we are simply the means of expression of something else; that when we think we are ourselves, we are simply the victims of a delusion. ― Aleister Crowley, Diary of a Drug Fiend. Weiser Books June 1977 (first published 1922)
There are two types of waiting. There’s the the waiting you do for something you know is coming, sooner or later—like waiting for the 6:28 train, or the school bus, or a party where a certain handsome boy might be. And then there’s the waiting for something you don’t know is coming. You don’t even… Continue reading Unknown
My grief is my castle, which like an eagle’s nest is built high up on the mountain peaks among the clouds; nothing can storm it. From it I fly down into reality to seize my prey; but i do not remain down there, I bring it home with me, and this prey is a picture… Continue reading Søren Kierkegaard