[b]Guy de Maupassant
Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist. [/b]
Well, sort of.
Words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face. But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare.
You know, before the internet.
Solitude is indeed dangerous for a working intelligence. We need to have around us people who think and speak. When we are alone for a long time we people the void with phantoms.
You know, before the internet.
…breathing, sleeping, drinking, eating, working, dreaming, everything we do is dying. to live, in fact, is to die.
If you know what he means. Not that this matters.
The past attracts me, the present frightens me, because the future is death.
Believe it or not, some actually obsess on this.
One sometimes weeps over one’s illusions with as much bitterness as over a death.
I know that I once did. But now it’s death all the way down.