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Apeiron
https://www.goodreads.com/apeiron_squared
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(page 190 of 446)
"There's this man in my city who comes out at night and sells old books right off the sidewalk, presumably until the city guard find him. The other week he happened to have this book, 40-years old, with a dedication from a lover to lover. I confused it for part of the Alexander trilogy, but turns out this one is actually about Socratic ideal of love.
Just when you stop believing in fate the perfect book finds you." — Feb 18, 2017 07:15AM
"There's this man in my city who comes out at night and sells old books right off the sidewalk, presumably until the city guard find him. The other week he happened to have this book, 40-years old, with a dedication from a lover to lover. I confused it for part of the Alexander trilogy, but turns out this one is actually about Socratic ideal of love.
Just when you stop believing in fate the perfect book finds you." — Feb 18, 2017 07:15AM
“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”
―
―
“I have written it before and am not ashamed to write it again. Without Wodehouse I am not sure that I would be a tenth of what I am today -- whatever that may be. In my teenage years, his writings awoke me to the possibilities of language. His rhythms, tropes, tricks and mannerisms are deep within me.
But more than that, he taught me something about good nature. It is enough to be benign, to be gentle, to be funny, to be kind.”
―
But more than that, he taught me something about good nature. It is enough to be benign, to be gentle, to be funny, to be kind.”
―
“I'd blow someone for a valium," I said in Jacob's ear.
"Maybe he's got one... but try offering a hand-job first so you retain some leverage.”
― GhosTV
"Maybe he's got one... but try offering a hand-job first so you retain some leverage.”
― GhosTV
“You think because he doesn't love you that you are worthless. You think that because he doesn't want you anymore that he is right -- that his judgement and opinion of you are correct. If he throws you out, then you are garbage. You think he belongs to you because you want to belong to him. Don't. It's a bad word, 'belong.' Especially when you put it with somebody you love. Love shouldn't be like that. Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can't even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? You go up top and what do you see? His head. The clouds never cover the head. His head pokes through, beacuse the clouds let him; they don't wrap him up. They let him keep his head up high, free, with nothing to hide him or bind him. You can't own a human being. You can't lose what you don't own. Suppose you did own him. Could you really love somebody who was absolutely nobody without you? You really want somebody like that? Somebody who falls apart when you walk out the door? You don't, do you? And neither does he. You're turning over your whole life to him. Your whole life, girl. And if it means so little to you that you can just give it away, hand it to him, then why should it mean any more to him? He can't value you more than you value yourself.”
―
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“I am a collection of dismantled almosts.”
― Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters
― Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters
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