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In The Science of Right, Kant wrote, “Marriage is the union of two persons of different sexes for the purpose of lifelong mutual possession of each other’s sexual organs.”
From Pessoa: “Ah, it’s my longing for whom I might have been that distracts and torments me.”
most of us believe we are who we are because of the decisions we’ve made, because of events that shaped us, because of the choices of those around us. We rarely consider that we’re also formed by the decisions we didn’t make, by events that could have happened but didn’t, or by our lack of choices, for that matter.
There is none more conformist than one who flaunts his individuality.
Sex, like art, can unsettle a soul, can grind a heart in a mortar. Sex, like literature, can sneak the other within one’s walls, even if for only a moment, a moment before one immures oneself again.
you can tell how well a marriage is working by counting the bite marks on each partner’s tongue.
One reason we desire explanations is that they separate us and make us feel safe.
No loss is felt more keenly than the loss of what might have been. No nostalgia hurts as much as nostalgia for things that never existed.
No nostalgia is felt as keenly as nostalgia for things that never existed.
She appeared to be in her sixties while in her midforties.
At the heart of most antagonisms are irreconcilable similarities.
Belief is murderous.
