Citation de HenriMoufettal
Lacking any values of their own, such people can arrive at a standpoint only by adopting other people’s standards or views.
The passage of time will usually extract the venom from most things and render them harmless. Then, sooner or later, I forget about them.
“I’m only sixteen,” she said, “and I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.”
Just go round the corner, and there it is: a world you’ve never seen. I told you you have a blind spot, didn’t I? You still don’t understand.”
But I’d rather not talk about that right now. Some things , you know, if you say them, it makes them not true? You know what I mean, Mr Wind-up Bird?”
This person, this self, this me, was made somewhere else. Everything had come from somewhere else, and it would all go somewhere else. I was nothing but a pathway for the person known as me.
I would not be able to distinguish the point at which the real ended and the unreal took over. The wall separating the two regions had begun to melt.
How wonderful it would be, he thought, if he could find the cool shade of a tree somewhere, to stretch out and sleep, if only for a little while – to stop thinking, to sink into the silent darkness of unconsciousness.
It’s always best for people to talk to each other face to face , to open themselves up. Otherwise, misunderstandings are bound to arise, and misunderstandings make people unhappy….
“Tell me, Doctor, are you afraid of death?” “I guess it depends on how you die ,” said the vet, after a moment’s thought.
a puzzle in which truth was not necessarily fact and fact not necessarily truth.
Could I have done such a thing without being aware of it? No, certainly not – unless there existed another me.
“What I’m trying to say is that it seems to me to be nothing but an explanation for explanation’s sake. It doesn’t lead anywhere.
I tried to smile, without much success. “I am afraid to die, though,” I whispered to myself.
I was dying. Like all the other people who live in this world.
The passage of time will usually extract the venom from most things and render them harmless. Then, sooner or later, I forget about them.
“I’m only sixteen,” she said, “and I don’t know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I’m pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots.”
Just go round the corner, and there it is: a world you’ve never seen. I told you you have a blind spot, didn’t I? You still don’t understand.”
But I’d rather not talk about that right now. Some things , you know, if you say them, it makes them not true? You know what I mean, Mr Wind-up Bird?”
This person, this self, this me, was made somewhere else. Everything had come from somewhere else, and it would all go somewhere else. I was nothing but a pathway for the person known as me.
I would not be able to distinguish the point at which the real ended and the unreal took over. The wall separating the two regions had begun to melt.
How wonderful it would be, he thought, if he could find the cool shade of a tree somewhere, to stretch out and sleep, if only for a little while – to stop thinking, to sink into the silent darkness of unconsciousness.
It’s always best for people to talk to each other face to face , to open themselves up. Otherwise, misunderstandings are bound to arise, and misunderstandings make people unhappy….
“Tell me, Doctor, are you afraid of death?” “I guess it depends on how you die ,” said the vet, after a moment’s thought.
a puzzle in which truth was not necessarily fact and fact not necessarily truth.
Could I have done such a thing without being aware of it? No, certainly not – unless there existed another me.
“What I’m trying to say is that it seems to me to be nothing but an explanation for explanation’s sake. It doesn’t lead anywhere.
I tried to smile, without much success. “I am afraid to die, though,” I whispered to myself.
I was dying. Like all the other people who live in this world.
