
At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.”
— Frida Kahlo
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.”
— T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

To love purely is to consent to distance, it is to adore the distance between ourselves and that which we love.”
— Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace (via Existential Celestial)

Tomorrow is tomorrow. Future cares have future cures, and we must mind today.”
— Sophocles
“Don’t be afraid to suffer—take your heaviness and give it back to the earth’s own weight; the mountains are heavy, the oceans are heavy.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus

We feel free because we lack the very language to articulate our unfreedom.”
― Slavoj Žižek, Welcome to the Desert of the Real: Five Essays on September 11 and Related Dates

God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?”
— Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science