Digvijay Malik

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William Gaddis
“I know you, I know you. You're the only serious person in the room, aren't you, the only one who understands, and you can prove it by the fact that you've never finished a single thing in your life. You're the only well-educated person, because you never went to college, and you resent education, you resent social ease, you resent good manners, you resent success, you resent any kind of success, you resent God, you resent Christ, you resent thousand-dollar bills, you resent Christmas, by God, you resent happiness, you resent happiness itself, because none of that's real. What is real, then? Nothing's real to you that isn't part of your own past, real life, a swamp of failures, of social, sexual, financial, personal...spiritual failure. Real life. You poor bastard. You don't know what real life is, you've never been near it. All you have is a thousand intellectualized ideas about life. But life? Have you ever measured yourself against anything but your own lousy past? Have you ever faced anything outside yourself? Life! You poor bastard.”
William Gaddis, The Recognitions

C.G. Jung
“If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.”
Carl Jung

John Ruskin
“Remember that the most beautiful things in life are often the most useless; peacocks and lilies for instance.”
John Ruskin

Alberto Caeiro
“I don’t have a philosophy: I have senses...
If I talk about Nature, it’s not because I know what it is,
But because I love it, and that’s why I love it,
Because when you love you never know what you love,
Or why you love, or what love is.

Loving is eternal innocence,
And the only innocence is not thinking.”
Alberto Caeiro, The Keeper of Sheep

Mark Twain
“What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real life is lead in his head, and is known to none but himself. All day long, and every day, the mill of his brain is grinding, and his thoughts, (which are but the mute articulation of his feelings,) not those other things are his history. His acts and his words are merely the visible thin crust of his world, with its scattered snow summits and its vacant wastes of water-and they are so trifling a part of his bulk! a mere skin enveloping it. The mass of him is hidden-it and its volcanic fires that toss and boil, and never rest, night nor day. These are his life, and they are not written, and cannot be written.”
Mark Twain, The Autobiography of Mark Twain

year in books
Ethan V...
3,782 books | 68 friends

Kajree ...
1,366 books | 301 friends

Malvika
4,277 books | 321 friends

Bram De...
575 books | 5,001 friends

Ashish ...
1,174 books | 894 friends

Vit Bab...
2,521 books | 4,998 friends

Shreya ...
445 books | 113 friends

Vidhya ...
1,171 books | 800 friends

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