Time is that by which at every moment all things become as nothing in our hands, and thereby lose all their true value.
In the presence of Esch, values have hidden their faces. Order, loyalty, sacrifice—he cherishes all these words, but exactly what do they represent? Sacrifice for what? Demand what sort of order? He d...
Y lo que, por el contrario, me sucede a mí en las raras horas de placer, lo que para mí es delicia, suceso, elevación y éxtasis, eso no lo conoce, ni lo ama, ni lo busca el mundo más que si acaso en l...
You don't choose to choose what you choose in life!
If nothing had any meaning, you would be right. But there is something that still has a meaning.
The insistent drums were an unwelcome reminder of the existence of another world, wholly autonomous, with its own necessities and patterns. The message they were beating out, over and over, was for he...
Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know.
I knew a man who gave twenty years of his life to a scatterbrained woman, sacrificing everything to her, his friendships, his work, the very respectability of his life and who one evening recognized t...
Mother used to say that however miserable one is, there’s always something to be thankful for. And each morning, when the sky brightened and light began to flood my cell, I agreed with her.
Barefoot conducts his seminars on his houseboat in Sausalito. It costs a hundred dollars to find out why we are on this Earth. You also get a sandwich, but I wasn't hungry that day. John Lennon had ju...
She is the light,at the end of this endless tunnel.
You burn like a candleinside my soul,showing me a waythrough this darkness.
At this stage of the game, I don’t have the time for patience and tolerance. Ten years ago, even five years ago, I would have listened to people ask their questions, explained to them, mollified them....
La seriedad (...) se produce por una hiperestimación del tiempo. (...) En la eternidad, sin embargo, no hay tiempo: la eternidad es solo un instante, lo suficientemente largo para una broma.
When one contemplated Portia, when one contemplated Sharon, when one contemplated one's own apparently pointless, utterly trivial being, the questions hung all around one, as urgent as knives at the t...
No misery ever so beautiful than the one this mind creates.
The Idiot. I have read it once, and find that I don't remember the events of the book very well--or even all the principal characters. But mostly the 'portrait of a truly beautiful person' that dostoe...
New mysteries. New day. Fresh doughnuts.
Tereza keeps appearing before my eyes. I see her sitting on the stump petting Karenin’s head and ruminating on mankind’s debacles. Another image also comes to mind: Nietzsche leaving his hotel in Turi...
Amid the pointing and the horror the clean flame.
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