It is such a secret place, the land of tears. — Antoine De Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince. Published by Reynal & Hitchcock (U.S.), Gallimard (France),1943 (U.S.: English & French), (France, French, 1945).
But there is a third mode of trancendence: in it language simply ceases, and the motion of spirit gives no further outward manifestation of its being. The poet enters into silence. Here the word borders not on radiance or music, but on night. — George Steiner, from “Silence and the Poet,” Language and Silence: Essays… Continue reading George Steiner
You die and you die and then you are beyond death. ― C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters. Published by Geoffrey Bles 1942, 1961 (first omnibus)
I learned through my body and soul that it was necessary to sin, that I needed lust, that I had to strive for property and experience nausea and the depths of despair in order to learn not to resist them, in order to learn to love the world, and no longer compare it with some… Continue reading Hermann Hesse
I would like to explode, flow, crumble into dust, and my disintegration would be my masterpiece. — Emil M. Cioran, On The Heights Of Despair. (University Of Chicago Press; 1 edition October 1, 1996)
Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. In the interval between reach and grasp, between glance and counterglance, between ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you too,’ the absent presence of desire comes alive. But the boundaries of time and glance and I love you are only aftershocks of the… Continue reading Anne Carson
After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn’t bring and never has brought happiness. On the contrary, it’s a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it’s sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we’re doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony. ― Paulo Coelho, The… Continue reading Paulo Coelho