Quotes added on Saturday, February 4 2017
Memories
are
cruel.
They
makes
us laugh
when
we create
it and
makes
us cry
when
we try
to recreate
it.
Write to me
only once a week, so that your letter arrives on Sunday –
for I cannot endure your daily letters, I am incapable of
enduring them. For instance, I answer one of your letters, then
lie in bed in apparent calm, but my heart beats through my entire
body and is conscious only of you. I belong to you; there is
really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong
enough. But for this very reason I don’t want to know what
you are wearing; it confuses me so much that I cannot deal with
life; and that’s why I don’t want to know that you
are fond of me. If I did, how could I, fool that I am, go on
sitting in my office, or here at home, instead of leaping onto a
train with my eyes shut and opening them only when I am with
you? —Franz Kafka
HAVE
WE EVER COMPLAINED because we are
misunderstood, misjudged, misidentified, slandered,
misheard, and not heard? Precisely this is our fate –
oh, for a long time yet! It is also our distinction; we
should not honor ourselves sufficiently if we wished that
it were otherwise. We are misidentified – because we
ourselves keep growing, keep changing, we shed our old
bark, we shed our skins every spring, we keep becoming
younger, fuller of future, taller, stronger, we push our
roots ever more powerfully into the depths – into
evil – while at the same time we embrace the heavens
ever more lovingly, more broadly, imbibing their light ever
more thirstily with all our twigs and leaves. Like trees we
grow – this is hard to understand, as is all of life
– not in one place only but everywhere, not in one
direction but equally upward and outward and inward and
downward; our energy is at work simultaneously in the
trunk, branches, and roots; we are no longer free to do
only one particular thing, to be only one particular thing.
This is our fate, as I have said; we grow in height; and
even if this should be our fatality – for we dwell
ever closer to the lightning – well, we do not on
that account honor it less; it remains that which we do not
wish to share, to make public – the fatality of the
heights, our fatality.
“
I
spent a lot of years trying to outrun or outsmart vulnerability
by making things certain and definite, black and white, good and
bad. My inability to lean into the discomfort of vulnerability
limited the fullness of those important experiences that are
wrought with uncertainty: Love, belonging, trust, joy, and
creativity to name a few.
”
You made your bed, now jump up and down on it.
Breaking character *is* my character.
The opposite of beauty isn't ugliness. The opposite of beauty is
other beauty.
Don't you get it? I chose you,
over anyone else. I always
f**king choose you
over anyone else. I always
f**king choose you
Autumn leaves
Falling down
like pieces
into place
and I
can picture
it after
all these
days.
