I have never been more sane, coldly sane, self-interestedly sane. I am a woman.
Bereavement is my occupation and it absorbs me completely. You want me to touch you, to look at you with sympathy. I cannot.
A versatile Bohemianism had rendered him classless.
She had made some sort of life-mistake which meant that everything would grow worse and never better.
He was conscious of his body as a heavy cold horrible container. He had the feeling, coming to him as the memory of a dream, of being a prisoner waiting to be tortured. The extremity of pain was yet to come. And even now he was denied to comfort of self-pitying misery and warm tears.
Marriage is brainwashing. Not necessarily a bad thing. Your brain could do with a wash.
Today we will read love poetry. You shall read aloud to me and we will weep together.
Anyway, as you say, what the hell. I know, I’ve been to hell, I’ve seen it, I’ve been shown round. I’ll kill myself. You’ll see, you’ll be sorry.
I’m sorry I was awful. I’m so full of terrors.
It’s all someone else’s secret.
But suicides are mysterious, and one must respect their mystery.
Life is horrible, horrible, horrible, said the philosopher.
He is crammed full of rage and hate and desire for revenge.
He was capable of hurting Ludens even to the point sometimes of deliberate malice.
There’s only one thing the matter and that’s everything.
It is sometimes said, either irritably or with a certain satisfaction, that philosophy makes no progress. It is certainly true, and I think this is an abiding and not a regrettable characteristic of the discipline, that philosophy has in a sense to keep trying to return to the beginning: a thing which it is not at all easy to do.
Happy love undoes the self and makes the world visible. Unhappy love is, or can be, a revelation of pure suffering.
I was not, except in some very broken-down sense of that ambiguous term, a love child. I was a word child.
The lid has come off and whatever was inside it has certainly got out. Upon the demon-ridden pilgrimage of human life, what next I wonder?
Suffering is no scandal. It is natural. Nature appoints it. All creation suffers. It suffers from having been created, if from nothing else. It suffers from being divided from God.