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Kant had it right about the stars above and the truth within. The last light the nonbeliever will see will not be the dimming of the sun. It will be the dimming of God.
Until you had money you didnt have history. How’s that?
Dreams dreams. What sort of despair would drive a person to the looney bin to query the mad as to their views? Good question.
have a feeling that the shape of your interior life is something you believe somehow exempts you from other considerations. Are you aware of the fact that you can go to jail? Are going, in fact? Yes.
He stepped back and opened the door. It’s open, he said. This is one parkinglot where you dont have to lock your car.
Wherever you debark was the train’s destination all along.
that which you are poised to relinquish forever almost certainly was never what you thought it to be in the first place.
Suffering is a part of the human condition and must be borne. But misery is a choice.
I’m not sure what the adaptive advantage could be to share an innate and collective misery.
Gladly the crosseyed bear.
It probably takes them a while to accept that this thing which follows them around is them.
The newborn are probably not that quick to ascribe reality to the visual. And ascribing reality is pretty much what they’re being called upon to do.
Vor mir keine Zeit, nach mir wird keine Sein.
Pero si va a venir nadie, por qué está cerrada? Ah. No sé. Pero la llave es muy vieja. Es propiedad de la familia. Me entiendes? Sí. Por supuesto. Está bien.
evil has no alternate plan. It is simply incapable of assuming failure.
The last of all men who stands alone in the universe while it darkens about him. Who sorrows all things with a single sorrow. Out of the pitiable and exhausted remnants of what was once his soul he’ll find nothing from which to craft the least thing godlike to guide him in these last of days.
Kant
This cup. This bitter cup.
Abar
Trinity.
Luke 22 42
Fräulein Gottestochter
All of history a rehearsal for its own extinction.
Where is my son? Why doesnt he come?
If you burrin away the key to the codex yet against what like tablet can this loss then be measured?
Why can you not bury him? Are his hands so red? Fathers are always forgiven.
In the end they are forgiven. Had it been women who
dragged the world through these horrors there would be...
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A calamity can be erased by no amount of good. It can only be erased by a worse calamity. He
It is always on. No matter what. Do you know what it’s called? No. It’s called a ghost light. And what. There’s one in every theatre? Yes. One in every theatre.
When we and all our
works are gone together with every memory of them and every machine in which such memory could be encoded and stored and the earth is not even a cinder, for whom then will this be a tragedy? Where would such a being be found? And by whom?
The elevation of grief to a status transcending that which it sorrows.
To win a war or a revolution does
not validate the cause. You
Mercy is the province of the person alone. There is mass hatred and there is mass grief. Mass vengeance and even mass suicide. But there is no mass forgiveness. There is only you.
In the end, she had said, there will be nothing that cannot be simulated. And this will be the final abridgment of privilege. This is the world to come. Not some other. The only alternate is the surprise in those antic shapes burned into the concrete.
The ages of men stretching grave to grave. An accounting on a slate. Blood, darkness. The washing of dead children on a board. The stone laminations of the world with their fossil prints unreckonable in form
and number. My father’s latterday petroglyphs and the people upon the r...
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The reflection in the swells of a molten bolide trundling across the firmament like a burning train.
