We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are.
Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts.
Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are.
Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves.
And maybe it’s our job to invent something better.
Choke // Chuck Palahniuk
Except our own thoughts, there is nothing absolutely in our power.
// René Descartes
she looked at me with
eyes full of wonderment and
hurt, lost in reflection
voice lowering an octave as
her throat tightened
heavy with regret
how many people have
i lost from my life because
i thought they saw me as
i see myself?
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Everything Feels Temporary in a Tornado.”
I have crossed the seas, I have left cities behind me, and I have followed the source of rivers towards their source or plunged into forests, always making for other cities. I have had women, I have fought with men; and I could never turn back any more than a record can spin in reverse. And all that was leading me where? To this very moment…
Nausea // Jean-Paul Sartre
I have never been able to understand people with consistent lives – people who, for example, grow up in a liberal Catholic household and stay that way; or who in junior high school are already laying down a record on which to run for president one day. Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humor and accommodation. What kind of life is that?
Tongues Untied // Michael Warner
The true paradises are the paradises that we have lost.
// Marcel Proust
The psyche is much smarter than consciousness allows.
We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury.
Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don’t.
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? // Jeanette Winterson
– What happens to people that love each other?
– I suppose they have whatever they have, and they are more fortunate than others. Then one of them gets the emptiness forever.
Islands In The Stream // Ernest Hemingway
What have you sacrificed to get to where you are now?
What would you sacrifice to be able to get it back?
Love. Either it is a remnant of something degenerating, something which once has been immense, or it is a particle of what will in the future develop into something immense; but in the present it is unsatisfying, it gives much less than one expects.
// Anton Chekhov