(Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself. I am vast, I contain multitudes.) It is not much of a dream, considering the vast extent of the domains of dreamland, and their wonderful productions; it is only remarkable for being unusually restless, and unusually real. ...and she has a watchful way of looking out of the corners of her eyes without turning her head, which could be pleasantly dispensed with - especially when she is in an ill humor and near knives. "I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies." "It's my girl that advises. She has the head. But I never own to it before her. Discipline must be maintained." Mark these words. Right now. Turn to the person next to you and
borrow a pencil for I shall not say this again: One should rather die
than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely
what it has promised. Betrayal, though...betrayal is the willful slaughter
of hope. I should brood if I were you. I should brood...and think on
sporadic killings. What we do during our working hours determines what we have. What we
do during our leisure hours determines what we are. ...soon I would see the world anew, not as it should be, but as it is. This is better than real memory, because real memory, at the cost of much effort, learns to remember but not to forget. The problem with suicide is that sometimes you jump out the window and then change your mind between the eighth floor and the seventh. "Oh, if only I could go back!" Sorry, you can't, too bad. Splat. But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth. Better reality than a dream; if something is real, then it's real and you're not to blame. I am convinced that even in the most commonplace text I will find a spark, if not of truth, at least of bizarre falsehood, and often the extremes meet. I will be bored only by the ordinary.... Everyone has written poems in adolescence; true poets burn them, bad poets publish them. The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is
the source of all true art and science. What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared
to what lies within us. Nothing pure was ever achieved without enthusiasm. It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be
stupid with them. Lots of things take time, and time was Momo's only form of wealth. They were experts on time just as leeches are experts on blood, and they
acted accordingly. But time is life itself, and life resides in the human heart. And the
more people saved, the less they had. A fool and a knave once set up house together: which shows what a fool
the Fool was.
~~~Avram Davidson "The Spoor of the Unicorn"
~~~Charles Dickens The Mystery of Edwin Drood
~~~Charles Dickens Bleak House
~~~Charles Dickens Bleak House
~~~Charles Dickens Bleak House
~~~Steven Dietz Dracula
~~~Steven Dietz Dracula
~~~George Eastman
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Umberto Eco Foucault's Pendulum
~~~Albert Einstein
~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson
~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson
~~~Ralph Waldo Emerson
~~~Michael Ende Momo
~~~Michael Ende Momo
~~~Michael Ende Momo
~~~Juliana H. Ewing
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