I see life in nothing but the certainty of your love convince me of it,my sweetest.If I am not somehow convinced I shall die of agony.
-John Keats,Letter To Fanny Brawne
My greatest revolt against this meaningless world is the happiness I feel because of you.
-Albert Camus,Letter to Maria Casarès
Hisab-ae-umr ka etna sa goshwara hai,tumhe nikal ke dekha toh sab khasara hai.
Translation:Such is the accounting statement of life, excluding you; everything else is just loss.
-Amjad Islam Amjad
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Le Plaisir du Texte, R. Barthes, 1973
[The text is a fetish object and this fetish desires me. The text chooses me, through a whole arrangement of invisible screens, of selective chicanes: vocabulary, references, readability, etc.; and, lost in the middle of the text (not behind it like a machine god), there is always the other, the author.]
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Human feeling. That's beyond my range. I'm rotten to the core.
Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit, 1944
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“History never repeats itself. Man always does.” - Voltaire
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"The onset and the waning of love make themselves felt in the uneasiness experienced at being alone together."---Jean de la Bruyére, French philosopher, 1645-1696
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“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience." - Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.
(French philosopher, paleontologist, and Jesuit priest)
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'Emmanuel' (15 × 10 cm, pastel on 135 gms paper'
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To love my country
To love my country
I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice.
Albert Camus, French philosopher
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To love my country
To love my country
I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice.
Albert Camus, French philosopher
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“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”
— Albert Camus
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The Nausea is not inside me: I feel it out there in the wall, in the suspenders, everywhere around me. It makes itself one with the café, I am the one who is within it.
Jean-Paul Sartre, from Nausea, 1938
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"The comfort of the rich depends upon an abundant supply of the poor."
— Voltaire
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Get scared. It will do you good. Smoke a bit, stare blankly at some ceilings, beat your head against some walls, refuse to see some people, paint and write. Allow your little mind to do nothing but function. Please, do poetical justice to your soul.
Albert Camus gets existential about writing, 1959.
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When I'm having a crappy day at work, I sometimes visit "L'Ami du Peuple" during my lunch break. It tends to put all the petty day-to-day stuff into perspective…
During the quieter moments, like today, when room 55 is nearly empty, I can't help but notice a pattern. Every single visitor, upon entering, pauses before the painting.
They do a double-take at the painting's name and give him another look. Some snap a photo they'll probably never look at again.
Then they move on.
Most of them likely have no clue who he is. They don't know he's holding a note from his assassin. If they even notice "L'An Deux" written at the bottom, they're probably confused by it.
But still, for those 30 seconds, David's brushstrokes exquisitely forming the face of this stricken man make them pause. What makes them linger? Is it the vaguely familiar name? The face they've seen on numerous posters and leaflets? The unsettling quiet brutality of the piece?
It doesn’t really matter why. Because, for that half-minute, through their eyes, he exists. He is present. He is contemporary.
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