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People went through life like well handled jugs, collecting chips and scrapes and stains from wear and tear, from holding and pouring life.


Sarah Hall


#life

Domination and critique have always formed an apparatus covertly against a common hostis: the conspirator, who works under cover, who used everything THEY give him and everything THEY attribute to him as a mask. The conspirator is everywhere hated, although THEY will never hate him as much as he enjoys playing his game. No doubt a certain amount of what one usually calls “perversion” accounts for the pleasure, since what he enjoys, among other things, is his opacity. But that isn’t the reason THEY continue to push the conspirator to make himself a critic, to subjectivate himself as critic, nor the reason for the hate THEY so commonly express. The reason is quite simply the danger he represents. The danger, for Empire, is war machines: that one person, that people transform themselves into war machines, ORGANICALLY JOIN THEIR TASTE FOR LIFE AND THEIR TASTE FOR DESTRUCTION.


Tiqqun


#criticism #destruction #domination #metaphysics #subjectivity

putriku menaiki lidah petir. membangunkan setiap raksasa malas. mengejarnya hingga sudutsudut kebun hidup. menggambar pertentangan dan kehancuran.


Dorothea Rosa Herliany


#life #metaphor #play #life

Alcoholism is...an incurable disease. You will have it for life. Just like you can't turn a pickle back into a cucumber.


Hideo Azuma


#life

Man lives on earth not once, but three times: the first stage of his life is his continual sleep; the second, sleeping and waking by turns; the third, waking forever.


Gustav Fechner


#philosophy #psychology-spirituality #life

I'm a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.


Mother Teresa


#love #metaphor #love

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.


Edna St. Vincent Millay


#metaphor #poetry #wisdom #love

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.


W.H. Auden


#eulogy #love

Happiness is the china shop; love is the bull.


H.L. Mencken


#metaphor #love

The death of a dream can in fact serve as the vehicle that endows it with new form, with reinvigorated substance, a fresh flow of ideas, and splendidly revitalized color. In short, the power of a certain kind of dream is such that death need not indicate finality at all but rather signify a metaphysical and metaphorical leap forward.


Aberjhani


#determination #dreams #inspiration #metaphysics #motivation






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