— gooseberries, she said. I said again I thought it was hopeless and no good going on, and she agreed, without opening her eyes. (Pause.) I asked her to look at me and after a few moments— (pause)— after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare. I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. (Pause. Low.) Let me in. (Pause.) We drifted in among the flags and stuck. The way they went down, sighing, before the stem! (Pause.) I lay down across her with my face in her breasts and my hand on her. We lay there without moving. But under us all moved, and moved us, gently, up and down, and from side to side.
Pause. Krapp’s lips move. No sound.
Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited.
Here I end this reel. Box— (pause)— three, spool— (pause)— five. (Pause.) Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back.
Krapp motionless staring before him. The tape runs on in silence.
Krapp’s Last Tape, Samuel Beckett
Isabelle Vialle - Le guide
(Source: sakrogoat, via c0lmillos)
Whereas I think: I’m lying here in a haystack… The tiny space I occupy is so infinitesimal in comparison with the rest of space, which I don’t occupy and which has no relation to me. And the period of time in which I’m fated to live is so insignificant beside the eternity in which I haven’t existed and won’t exist… And yet in this atom, this mathematical point, blood is circulating, a brain is working, desiring something… What chaos! What a farce!
#310: The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935)
Sit still with me in the shade of these green trees, which have no weightier thought than the withering of their leaves when autumn arrives, or the stretching of their many stiff fingers into the cold sky of the passing winter. Sit still with me and meditate on how useless effort is, how alien the will, and on how our very meditation is no more useful than effort, and no more our own than the will. Meditate too on how a life that wants nothing can have no weight in the flux of things, but a life the wants everything can likewise have no weight in the flux of things, since it cannot obtain everything, and to obtain less than everything is not worthy of souls that seek the truth
Fernando Pessoa, The Education of the Stoic: The Only Manuscript of the Baron of Teive
I am not always despondent, hence I do not always think. […]
The man who thinks when he wants to has nothing to tell us: above—or rather, alongside—his thoughts, he is not responsible for them, not committed to them, neither wins nor loses by risking himself in a struggle in which he himself is not his own enemy. It costs him nothing to believe in Truth. Which is not the case for a mind where true and false have ceased to be superstitions; destroyer of all criteria, such a mind verifies itself, like invalids and poets; it thinks by accident: the glory of a discomfort or of a delirium suffices. Is not an indigestion richer in ideas than a parade of concepts? Malfunctions in our organs determine the fruitfulness of our minds: the man who does not feel his body will never be in a position to conceive a living thought; he will wait to no purpose for the advantageous surprise of some disadvantage…
Emil Cioran, A Short History of Decay
. Trans. Richard Howard. New York: Viking Press, 1949, 1975 ed. p.95. (via dangerousfailures
By request from a follower.
Albert Speer's last meeting with Magda Goebbels in the Führerbunker, taken directly from his memoir book.
Blood for Dracula (1974)
In order to maintain our way of living, we must tell lies to each other, and especially to ourselves. It’s not necessary that the lies be particularly believable. The lies act as barriers to truth. These barriers to truth are necessary because without them, many deplorable acts would become impossibilities. Truth must at all costs be avoided. When we do allow self-evident truths to percolate past our defenses and into our consciousness, they are treated like so many hand grenades rolling across the dance floor of an improbably macabre party. We try to stay out of harm’s way, afraid they will go off, shatter our delusions, and leave us exposed to what we have done to the world and to ourselves, exposed as the hollow people we have become. And so we avoid these truths, these self-evident truths, and continue the dance of world destruction.