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Silence reveals itself only to itself. Only when we enter as nothing and stay as nothing, will silence open its secret. ― Adyashanti, Emptiness Dancing. (Sounds True; 2nd edition, May 1, 2006) Orriginally published 2004. Advertisements

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Emil Cioran

We perceive first the anomaly of sheer existence, and only afterward that of our specific situation: the surprise of being precedes the surprise of being human. Yet the strange character of our state should constitute the primordial datum of our perplexities: it is less natural to be man than, simply, to be. We feel this… Continue reading Emil Cioran

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Nikos Kazantzakis

When shall I at last retire into solitude alone, without companions, without joy and without sorrow, with only the sacred certainty that all is a dream? When, in my rags—without desires—shall I retire contented into the mountains? When, seeing that my body is merely sickness and crime, age and death, shall I—free, fearless, and blissful—retire… Continue reading Nikos Kazantzakis

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Georges Bataille

We have in fact only two certainties in this world—that we are not everything and that we will die. To be conscious of not being everything, as one is of being mortal, is nothing. But if we are without a narcotic, an unbreathable void reveals itself. I wanted to be everything, so that falling into… Continue reading Georges Bataille

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Hermann Hesse

A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself. — Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf: A Novel. (Penguin Books, Limited (UK); New Ed edition February 25, 1999) Originally… Continue reading Hermann Hesse

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Fernando Pessoa

I look at my past life as at a field lit up by the sun when it breaks through the clouds, and I note with metaphysical astonishment how my most deliberate acts, my clearest ideas, and my most logical intentions were after all no more than congenital drunkenness, inherent madness, and huge ignorance. I didn’t… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa

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Albert Camus

“This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. For ever I shall be a stranger to myself. — Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus. (Penguin Classic, November… Continue reading Albert Camus

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