‘Originality’ is the sickness of modernity tha…

‘Originality’ is the sickness of modernity that wishes to see itself as something new, always new, in order continually to witness its own birth. In doing so, modernity is that fashionable illusion which only speaks to death.

“I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.”

“I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.”

Jack Kerouac

The best way of killing a rose is to force it …

The best way of killing a rose is to force it open when it is still only the promise of a bud.

“Call home at least once a week. It’s a proven fact that we call home less the older we get. And…”

“Call home at least once a week. It’s a proven fact that we call home less the older we get. And that’s wrong. It should be the other way around. As we get older, our parents get older.”

Randy Pausch

“It’s unbelievable how you can affect someone else so deeply and never know.”

“It’s unbelievable how you can affect someone else so deeply and never know.”

Susane Colasanti

“What is hardest to accept about the passage of time is that the people who once mattered the most to…”

“What is hardest to accept about the passage of time is that the people who once mattered the most to us wind up in parentheses.”

John Irving

“The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do.”

“The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do.”

Walter Bagehot

“The thing is you have to fight the whole time. You can’t stop. Otherwise you just end up somewhere,…”

“The thing is you have to fight the whole time. You can’t stop. Otherwise you just end up somewhere, bobbing in the middle of a life you never wanted.”

Alexander Maksik

“How long has it been since someone touched part of you other than your body?”

“How long has it been since someone touched part of you other than your body?”

Laurel Hoodwrit

“My love is like a stone tied round my neck; it’s dragging me down to the bottom; but I love my…”

“My love is like a stone tied round my neck; it’s dragging me down to the bottom; but I love my stone. I can’t live without it.”

Anton Chekhov