Now is the Winter of our discontent.
The way of the consumerist culture is to spend so much energy chasing happiness that it has none left to be happy.
There is absolutely no worse death curse than the humdrum daily existence of the living dead.
Millions upon millions will attain your ceremony, but don't think all of them are in a ceremonius mood.
Even envy, wants to even the score.
But she—her life was cold as a garret whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart.
People are complaining of having rags and not riches, but I find it a blessing just to have rags, to wipe away the dirt and dust that may come in the course of life.
I know about me. I am the moons sister, a tidal child stranded on land. The sea always in my ear, a surf of eternal discontent in my blood.
The tedium of existence and feeling imprisoned in a deplorable job can cause a person to consider the most expedient escape route from suffering including flirting with suicide. Fernando Pessoa wrote...
Let thy discontents be thy secrets
Sometimes the most remarkable things seem commonplace. I mean, when you think about it, jet travel is pretty freaking remarkable. You get in a plane, it defies the gravity of an entire planet by explo...