Liz

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Samantha Shannon
“In darkness, we are naked. Our truest selves. Night is when fear comes to us at our fullest, when we have no way to fight it”, Ead continued. It will do everything it can to seep inside of you. Sometimes it may succeed - but never think that you are the night.”
Samantha Shannon, The Priory of the Orange Tree

Oli Anderson
“If you don’t accept yourself, you can’t transcend yourself and the world: first, you need to increase your awareness, then you need to accept what you learn, then you need to take action.”
Oli Anderson, Shadow Life: Freedom from Bullshit in an Unreal World

Mark Fisher
“Depressive ontology is dangerously seductive because, as the zombie twin of a certain philosophical wisdom, it is half true. As the depressive withdraws from the vacant confections of the lifeworld, he unwittingly finds himself in concordance with the human condition so painstakingly diagrammed by a philosopher like Spinoza: he sees himself as a serial consumer of empty simulations, a junky hooked on every kind of deadening high, a meat puppet of the passions. The depressive cannot even lay claim to the comforts that a paranoiac can enjoy, since he cannot believe that the strings are being pulled by any one. No flow, no connectivity in the depressive’s nervous system.”
Mark Fisher, Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures

Donna Goddard
“True love is communicated nonverbally. It is set by our intention. If our intention is not at a level that is gracious, compassionate, and loving then no amount of sweet talk will ever convince the recipient of our goodwill. On the other hand, if our inner-being radiates peace and unselfish care then our presence will have a reassuring, uplifting, and healing effect, no matter what we say or omit to say. The recipient of our words will have a tendency to respect and appreciate us and will gravitate towards us.”
Donna Goddard, The Love of Being Loving

Mark Fisher
“The depressive experiences himself as walled off from the lifeworld, so that his own frozen inner life – or inner death – overwhelms everything; at the same time, he experiences himself as evacuated, totally denuded, a shell: there is nothing except the inside, but the inside is empty. For the depressive, the habits of the former lifeworld now seem to be, precisely, a mode of playacting, a series of pantomime gestures (‘a circus complete with all fools’), which they are both no longer capable of performing and which they no longer wish to perform – there’s no point, everything is a sham.”
Mark Fisher, Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures

year in books
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