- i used to think the years would go by in order, that you get older one year at a time. but it’s not like that. it happens overnight. (murakami, dance dance dance)
- there is poetry as soon as we realize that we possess nothing (john cage)
- the real secret of magic is that the world is made of words, and that if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish. (terence mckenna)
- colorless green ideas sleep furiously (noam chomsky)
- a journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. and all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. we find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. (john steinbeck)
- be the change you want to see in the world (mahatma gandhi)
- from a certain point onward there is no longer any turning back. that is the point that must be reached. (f. kafka)
- don't ever tell anybody anything. if you do, you start missing everybody. (j. d. salinger, the catcher in the rye)
- anyway, i keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. thousands of little kids, and nobody's around — nobody big, i mean — except me. and i'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. what i have to do, i have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff — i mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going i have to come out from somewhere and catch them. that's all i'd do all day. i'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. i know it's crazy, but that's the only thing i'd really like to be. i know it's crazy. (j.d. salinger, the catcher in the rye)
- i thought what i'd do was, i'd pretend i was one of those deaf-mutes. that way i wouldn't have to have any goddam stupid useless conversations with anybody. (j.d. salinger, the catcher in the rye)
- great acts are made of small deeds (lao tzu)
- if you go out of your mind, do it quietly, so as not to disturb those around you. ($ fortune)
- if you’re going to try, go all the way. otherwise, don’t even start. this could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. it could mean not eating for three or four days. it could mean freezing on a park bench. it could mean jail. it could mean derision. it could mean mockery—isolation. isolation is the gift. all the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. and, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. and it will be better than anything else you can imagine. if you’re going to try, go all the way. there is no other feeling like that. you will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. you will ride life straight to perfect laughter. it’s the only good fight there is. (bukowski)
- the journey, not the destination
- there is a world beyond ours, a world that is far away, nearby, and invisible. and there is where god lives, where the dead live, the spirits and the saints, a world where everything has already happened and everything is known. that world talks. it has a language of its own. i report what it says. the sacred mushroom takes me by the hand and brings me to the world where everything is known. it is they, the sacred mushrooms, that speak in a way i can understand. i ask them and they answer me. when i return from the trip that i have taken with them, i tell what they have told me and what they have shown me. (maria sabina)
- if the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is: infinite. (william blake)
- in conclusion, there is no conclusion. things will go on as they always have, getting weirder all the time. (principia discordia)
- we live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. the martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. by its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. sensations, feelings, insights, fancies—all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. we can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. from family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes. (the doors of perception; aldous huxley)
feb 29 2012 ∞
feb 24 2014 +