What shall we tell the blind woman in Rilke’s poem who lamented that ‘I can no longer live with the sky upon me’? Would it comfort her if we told her we can no longer live with the earth underneath our feet?
— Emil Cioran, Tears and Saints.
— Emil Cioran, Tears and Saints.
Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand.
— Aldous Huxley
— Aldous Huxley
Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.
Come, my friend, and remember
that the rich have butlers and no friends,
And we have friends and no butlers.
Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.
Dawn enters with little feet
like a gilded Pavlova
And I am near my desire.
Nor has life in it aught better
Than this hour of clear coolness,
the hour of waking together.
– Ezra Pound, The Garret
Come, my friend, and remember
that the rich have butlers and no friends,
And we have friends and no butlers.
Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.
Dawn enters with little feet
like a gilded Pavlova
And I am near my desire.
Nor has life in it aught better
Than this hour of clear coolness,
the hour of waking together.
– Ezra Pound, The Garret