“The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.”
— Samuel Beckett (Endgame) (via stay-beautiful-4real)
March 2011
68 posts
“Mankind are so much the same, in all times and places, that history informs us of nothing new or strange in this particular. Its chief use is only to discover the constant and universal principles of human nature.”
—David Hume. (via ferdinandinfur)
“Written in ink, in German, in a small, hopelessly sincere handwriting, were the words “Dear God, life is hell.” Nothing led up to or away from it. Alone on the page, and in the sickly stillness of the room, the words appeared to have the stature of an uncontestable, even classic indictment. X stared at the page for several minutes, trying, against heavy odds, not to be taken in. Then, with far more zeal than he had done anything in weeks, he picked up a pencil stub and wrote down under the inscription, in English, “Fathers and teachers, I ponder, ‘What is Hell?’ I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.”
—J.D. Salinger, For Esme, With Love and Squalor (via foals-)
“We’re all faced throughout our lives with agonizing decisions, moral choices. Some are on a grand scale, most of these choices are on lesser points. But we define ourselves by the choices we have made. We are, in fact, the sum total of our choices. Events unfold so unpredictably, so unfairly. Human happiness does not seem to be included in the design of creation. It is only we, with our capacity to love that give meaning to the indifferent universe. And yet, most human beings seem to have the ability to keep trying and even try to find joy from simple things, like their family, their work, and from the hope that future generations might understand more.”
—Crimes and Misdemeanors, by Woody Allen. (via ferdinandinfur)
“Do you believe in God? That’s the wrong question. Does God believe in us?”
—Old Man, La Haine (1995) (Submitted by artilleur)
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby
Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing a face she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Father McKenzie
Writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working
Darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care?
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Eleanor Rigby
Died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie
Wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
The Beatles - Eleanor Rigby (Submitted by timblarity)
“The idea that God is an over-sized white male with a flowing beard who sits in the sky and tallies the fall of every sparrow is ludicrous. But if by God one means the set of physical laws that govern the universe, then clearly there is such a God. This God is emotionally unsatisfying… it does not make much sense to pray to the law of gravity.”
—Carl Sagan
just wondering: has the owner of the site changed? there's been a pretty big change in posting content recently.
No, I’ve always been in charge of posting and I’ve specifically tried to keep my opinion off this blog so as not to distract from the ideas being presented. Do feel free to suggest any improvements I can make to the blog.
“If there’s one thing you can say about mankind,
there’s nothing kind about man.” —Tom Waits, “Misery is the River of the World”
there’s nothing kind about man.” —Tom Waits, “Misery is the River of the World”
“Looks like freedom but it feels like death
It’s something in between, I guess
It’s Closing Time.” —Leonard Cohen’s Closing Time.
It’s something in between, I guess
It’s Closing Time.” —Leonard Cohen’s Closing Time.
“Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart.
O. When may it suffice?” —William Butler Yeats
O. When may it suffice?” —William Butler Yeats
