Идеи приходят в голову отдельным личностям. В этом всегда была беда человечества
When the sun was set I might perhaps go to sleep. I never let myself sleep during the day. Daytime sleep is a cursed slumber from which one wakes in despair. The sun will not tolerate it. If he can he...
Toby had received, though not yet digested, one of the earliest lessons of adult life: that one is never secure. At any moment one can be removed from a state of guileless serenity and plunged into it...
Time, like the sea, unties all knots.
The idea of attention or contemplation, of looking carefully at something and it before the mind, may be conveyed early on in childhood. 'Look, listen, isn't that nice?' Also, 'Don't touch!' This is...
Perhaps the crime was that of letting himself be loved so much more than he loved.
Outsiders who see rules and not the love that runs through them are often too ready to label other people as 'prisoners'.
It was a piece of thoroughly picturesque and proper violence. I like a violent man, really, a man who's a bit of a brute in a decent straightforward way.
I have always attributed a great importance to eyes. How mysteriously expressive those damp orbs can be; the eyeball does not change and yet it is the window of the soul. And colour in eyes is, in its...
As we live our precarious lives on the brink of the void, constantly coming closer to a state of nonbeing, we are all too often aware of our fragitlity.
What we really are seems much more like an obscure system of energy out of which choices and visible acts of will emerge at intervals in ways which are often unclear and often dependent on the conditi...
We are clay and nothing is real for us except the uncanny womb of Being into which we shall return.
The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.
T. S. Eliot and Jean-Paul Sartre, dissimilar enough as thinkers, both tend to undervalue prose and to deny it any function. Poetry is the creation of linguistic quasi-things; prose is for explanation...
She tells so many different stories and they are all false.
One forgot, one forgot. What hold had one on the past? The present moment was a little travelling in darkness.
Of course reading and thinking are important but, my God, food is important too.
In a world without a redeemer only clarity was the answer to guilt. He would make it all clear to himself, shirking nothing, and then he would decide.
If I see her she may kill hope.
I know how much you grieve over those who are under your care: those you try to help and fail, those you cannot help. Have faith in God and remember that He will is His own way and in His own time com...