I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.
I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.
I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic -- in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.
You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book(Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable first, restlessness. The second symptom(when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death) absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this(or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death.
When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.
Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements
There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.
How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself.
There are only two kinds of freedom in the world the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the artist and the monk who renounces possessions
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories