A hundred francs! Oh, dear me! It is worth millions of francs, my child. But my -- dealer -- here tells me that in fact a picture is worth only what someone will give for it. How much money do you hav...
Well, it all comes to this, there's no use trying to live in other people's opinions. The only thing to do is to live in our own.
(n.) The quality or state of being subjective; character of the subject.
Einer hat immer Unrecht: aber mit zweien beginnt die Wahrheit. Einer kann sich nicht beweisen: aber zweie kann man bereits nicht widerlegen.
অতিদেবদূতীয় কবিতাআমার পাগলামি আর আমার ভয়ওদের আছে বড়ো-বড়ো মরা চোকআর জ্বরের অবিচলিত চাউনিএই চোখগুলোয় যা দেখা যায়তা ব্রহ্মাণ্ডের অসারতাআমার চোখ দুটো অন্ধ আকাশআমার দুর্ভেদ্য রাতেঅসম্ভাব্যতা কেঁদে ওঠেসবকিছ...
The person with an itch can't understand why everyone's not scratching.
The person with an itch can't understand why everyone isn't scratching.
We are not our own light.
The locus of the human mystery is perception of this world. From it proceeds every thought, every art.
Even more remote from his way of thinking, even more impossible than any other thought, would have been words such as this: Is it only I alone who have created this experience, or is it objective real...
And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her life simple and strange as a bird's life, gay in the morning, restless all day, tired at sundown? Her heart simple and...
There is still a popular fantasy, long since disproved by both psychoanalysis and science, and never believed by any poet or mystic, that it is possible to have a thought without a feeling. It isn't....
There is no law by which to determine the superiority of nations; hence the vanity of the claim, and the idleness of disputes about it. A people risen, run their race, and die either of themselves or...
For myself, I wouldn't have lifted a finger to own a Rolex, a pair of Nikes or a BMW Z3; in fact, I had never succeeded in identifying the slightest difference between designer goods and non-designer...
Perhaps this is how it is--life flowing smoothly over memory and history, the past returning or not, depending on the tide. History is a collection of found objects washed up through time. Goods, idea...
An offering for the sake of offering, perhaps. Anyhow, it was her gift. Nothing else had she of the slightest importance; could not think, write, even play the piano. She muddled Armenians and Turks;...
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