"But it was not a simple case of going out for a couple of beers and going home. That is not my story. I took it to excess. I crossed a line and I couldn’t get back. I had long periods of sobriety when I was focusing on football but I always had a drink at the end of it. I would just fall off the wagon. It was like a running joke. "
- Tony Adams
- Tony Adams
Somebody inside of me has always tried, with all his strength, to be nobody.”
— Albert Camus, from a notebook entry featured in Notebooks (1951-1959)
— Albert Camus, from a notebook entry featured in Notebooks (1951-1959)
And how much better to die in all the happy period of undisillusioned youth, to go out in a blaze of light, than to have your body worn out and old and illusions shattered.
Ernest Hemingway - Letter to his family (18 October 1918)
Ernest Hemingway - Letter to his family (18 October 1918)
“More than sky, warmth, humanity,
more than dark sorrow, the poet.
Pointless discussing the eternal,
or anything that simply isn’t.”
— Boris Ryzhy, How the Granite is Covered in Ice
more than dark sorrow, the poet.
Pointless discussing the eternal,
or anything that simply isn’t.”
— Boris Ryzhy, How the Granite is Covered in Ice
Black angel on white snow,
reduced a hundredfold by a gloomy magician.
Death is sorrowful, but to live, I cannot.
In the bleak park no one is about.
In the bleak park there is always silence,
and a pine tree — like a stranger — stands.
Lean up against it, partake of the wine,
that lies — by the heart — in the pocket.
I made to recollect; but
at first it humiliated and then it killed.
It's overly cold in this light coat.
The angel beats its black wings.
— Fly to your heaven, my dear,
and recount, as if god were still alive:
it's still, he says, winter, still peaceful,
just some fool being lonely.
Boris Ryzhy - Black angel on white snow
reduced a hundredfold by a gloomy magician.
Death is sorrowful, but to live, I cannot.
In the bleak park no one is about.
In the bleak park there is always silence,
and a pine tree — like a stranger — stands.
Lean up against it, partake of the wine,
that lies — by the heart — in the pocket.
I made to recollect; but
at first it humiliated and then it killed.
It's overly cold in this light coat.
The angel beats its black wings.
— Fly to your heaven, my dear,
and recount, as if god were still alive:
it's still, he says, winter, still peaceful,
just some fool being lonely.
Boris Ryzhy - Black angel on white snow
Fall Apart
Death In June
And why did you say
That things shall fall
And fall and fall and fall
And fall apart?
That things shall fall
And fall and fall and fall
And fall apart?