Do reflections also travel at the speed of light? What does your buddy Albert think? When the light hits the glass and starts back in the opposite direction doesnt it have to come to a full stop first? And so everything is supposed to hang on the speed of light but nobody wants to talk about the speed of dark. What’s.
For the world was made new each day and it was only men’s clinging to its vanished husks that could make of that world one husk more.
Suffering is part of the human condition and must be borne. But misery is a choice.
White Was he killed? Black I hope so. We buried him.
The defeated have their cause and the victors have their victory.
The lights of the city hovered in a nimbus and again stood fractured in the black river, isinglass image, tangled broken shapes splash of lights along the bridgewalk following the elliptic and receding rows of the pole lamps across to meet them. The rhythmic arc of the wipers on the glass lulled him and he coasted out onto the bridge, into the city shrouded in rain and silence, the cars passing him slowly, their headlamps wan, watery lights in sorrowful progression.
And so everything is supposed to hang on the speed of light but nobody wants to talk about the speed of dark.
We could choose to join the beliefs and practices of the millions of dead beneath our feet or we could begin again. Did he really have to think about it? Why should I have no one? Why should he? I told him that I’d no way even to know if there was justice in my heart if I had no one to love and love me. You cannot credit yourself with a truth that has no resonance. Where is the reflection of your worth? And who will speak for you when you are dead?
The world’s truth constitutes a vision so terrifying as to beggar the prophecies of the bleakest seer who ever walked it. Once you accept that then the idea that all of this will one day be ground to powder and blown into the void becomes not a prophecy but a promise.
He’d of took you boy. Like a bride to the altar.
You always get everything wrong. It’s Goofy. It’s not nuts.
The actual process of thinking -in any discipline- is an unconscious affair... The truth is that there is a process here to which we have no access.
All reality is loss and all loss is eternal. There is no other kind.
The notion of nothing is an inconceivable notion.
In their recollections dreams and life acquire an oddly merging egality.
Music is made out of nothing but some fairly simple rules. Yet it’s true that no one made them up. The rules. The notes themselves amount to almost nothing. But why some particular arrangement of these notes should have such a profound effect on our emotions is a mystery beyond even the hope of comprehension. Music is not a language. it has no reference to anything other than itself.
Wherever you debark was the train’s destination all along.
Every remedy for loneliness only postpones it.
The more naive your life the more frightening your dreams. Your unconscious will keep trying to wake you.
You’re just trying to keep alive long enough to stay that way.