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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #existent
But you can’t put fight into a man’s guts if he hasn’t any fight in him. There are some of us so cowardly that you can’t ever make heroes of us, not even if you frighten us to death. We know too much, maybe. There are some of us who don’t live in the moment, who live a little ahead, or a little behind. ↗
I close my eyes Only for a moment, then the moment's gone All my dreams Pass before my eyes, a curiosity... Same old song Just a drop of water in an endless sea All we do Crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see... Now, don't hang on Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky It slips away And all your money won't another minute buy... Dust in the wind All we are is dust in the wind." (Kansas guitarist Kerry Livgren wrote this after reading a book of Native American poetry. The line that caught his attention was "For All We Are Is Dust In The Wind.") ↗
Camus and Henry waved to me from that muddy truck. They both wanted me to get over myself. So, this was me, getting over myself. And it was about time. ↗
#dating #existentialism #glass-girl #henry-whitmire #humanitarian
Polarities of the 'authentic' vs. the 'inauthentic' are easily discernible in recreational modes. The criteria of authenticity are not necessarily objective but rather have to do with the rules by which the self allows or disallows its own experience. ↗
#existentialism #experience #genuineness #the-self #experience
Can it be, I thought, can it actually be? .......could he be all of them: Rine the runner and Rine the gambler and Rine the briber and Rine the lover and Rinehart the Reverend? Could he himself be both rind and heart? .....Rinehart the rounder. It was true as I was true. His world was possibility and he knew it. He was years ahead of me and I was a fool. I must have been crazy and blind. The world in which we lived was without boundaries...All boundaries down, freedom was not only the recognition of necessity, it was the recognition of possibility. And sitting there trembling I caught a brief glimpse of the possibilities posed by Rinehart’s multiple personalities… ↗
Anybody watch General Clinic yesterday,” Vivian asked. “I had to work the lunch shift.” “Ooh, yeah,” Darlene said. “‘Fraid it doesn’t look good for Emile. It’s all that Mona’s fault. He wanted a private marriage and she wouldn’t listen.” At this, Vivian got a sad look in her eyes. Her mother had raised her on General Clinic. Her mother herself had been a faithful viewer for most of her life, ever since it was first aired. Instead of growing up on the stories of her mother’s childhood, Vivian was raised on bedtime summaries of past episodes of General Clinic, mostly from the 1970’s episodes, the so-called ‘stagnant years,’ highly underrated in her mother’s opinion. For 39 years her mother watched that show. Then she died. It happened just the way Aubrey murdered her son’s babysitter in the April 3, 1971 episode. What was the coincidence of that? Vivian thought about the irony of fate. Now she would be a victim of the very same unlikely probability. If only Emile would pull through…she might have a chance to hope. ↗
At this stage of the game, I don’t have the time for patience and tolerance. Ten years ago, even five years ago, I would have listened to people ask their questions, explained to them, mollified them. No more. That time is past. Now, as Norman Mailer said in Naked and the Dead, ‘I hate everything which is not in myself.’ If it doesn’t have a direct bearing on what I’m advocating, if it doesn’t augment or stimulate my life and thinking, I don’t want to hear it. It has to add something to my life. There’s no more time for explaining and being ecumenical anymore. No more time. That’s a characteristic I share with the new generation of Satanists, which might best be termed, and has labeled itself in many ways, an ‘Apocalypse culture.’ Not that they believe in the biblical Apocalypse—the ultimate war between good and evil. Quite the contrary. But that there is an urgency, a need to get on with things and stop wailing and if it ends tomorrow, at least we’ll know we’ve lived today. It’s a ‘fiddle while Rome burns’ philosophy. It’s the Satanic philosophy. If the generation born in the 50’s grew up in the shadow of The Bomb and had to assimilate the possibility of imminent self destruction of the entire planet at any time, those born in the 60’s have had to reconcile the inevitability of our own destruction, not through the bomb but through mindless, uncontrolled overpopulation. And somehow resolve in themselves, looking at what history has taught us, that no amount of yelling, protesting, placard waving, marching, wailing—or even more constructive avenues like running for government office or trying to write books to wake people up—is going to do a damn bit of good. The majority of humans have an inborn death wish—they want to destroy themselves and everything beautiful. To finally realize that we’re living in a world after the zenith of creativity, and that we can see so clearly the mechanics of our own destruction, is a terrible realization. Most people can’t face it. They’d rather retreat to the comfort of New Age mysticism. That’s all right. All we want, those few of us who have the strength to realize what’s going on, is the freedom to create and entertain and share with each other, to preserve and cherish what we can while we can, and to build our own little citadels away from the insensitivity of the rest of the world. ↗
#apocalypse-culture #existentialism #isolation #naked-and-the-dead #norman-mailer
The worst part of writing fiction is the fear of wasting your life behind a keyboard. The idea that, dying, you'll realize you only lived on paper. Your only adventures were make-believe, and while the world fought and kissed, you sat in some dark room masturbating and making money. ↗
