Neither trap, nor of chain, then why do we feel encaged?
What shackle and what rope is so strong yet so fine?
“You can know the name of a bird in all the languages of the world, but when you’re finished, you’ll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird. So let’s look at the bird and see what it’s doing - that’s what counts. I learned very early the difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.”
~ Richard Feynman
The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else while you’re uncool.
Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.
Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.
—Mrs. Cheveley, from An Ideal Husband
What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen - the seven masks I have fashioned and worn in seven lives, - I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the curséd thieves.”
Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.
And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.”
Thus I became a madman.
And I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.
But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a thief in a jail is safe from another thief.
- Kahlil Gibran
Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.
—Aristotle (384-322 BC)
You live out the confusions until they become clear.
I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me.
I cannot even explain it to myself.
—The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka