Gabrielius Blekaitis

“4. And, in a word, the achievements of the Saviour, resulting from His becoming man, are of such kind and number, that if one should wish to enumerate them, he may be compared to men who gaze at the expanse of the sea and wish to count its waves. For as one cannot take in the whole of the waves with his eyes, for those which are coming on baffle the sense of him that attempts it; so for him that would take in all the achievements of Christ in the body, it is impossible to take in the whole, even by reckoning them up, as those which go beyond his thought are more than those he thinks he has taken in. 5. Better is it, then, not to aim at speaking of the whole, where one cannot do justice even to a part, but, after mentioning one more, to leave the whole for you to marvel at. For all alike are marvellous, and wherever a man turns his glance, he may behold on that side the divinity of the Word, and be struck with exceeding great awe.”
― Athanasius of Alexandria, On the Incarnation

“Tai, ką aš galiu atkurti iš savo vaikiškos atminties, visai nėra pastatas; manyje jis visas suskaidytas į dalis - čia vienas kambarys, ten - kitas, o štai čia - koridoriaus atkarpa, kuri nejungia tų dviejų kambarių, bet egzistuoja pati savaime, kaip fragmentas. Taip manyje viskas pabira: kambariai, laiptai, ceremoningai besileidžiantys žemyn, ir kiti laipteliai - ankšti, įviji: jų tamsoje vaikščiodavai, kaip vaikšto kraujas gyslomis; bokšto kambarėliai, aukštai kabantys balkonai, netikėtai atsiveriančios altanos, į kurias buvai įstumiamas pro mažutes duris. Visai tai dar tebėra ir visuomet bus manyje. Atrodo, lyg to namo paveikslas būtų nukritęs į mane iš nepaprasto aukščio ir sudužęs mano gelmėse.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

“It seems a miracle that we should last so much as a single day. There is no antidote, he writes, against the opium of time. The winter sun shows how soon the light fades from the ash, how soon night enfolds us. Hour upon hour is added to the sum. Time itself grows old. Pyramids, arches and obelisks are melting pillars of snow. Not even those who have found a place amidst the heavenly constellations have perpetuated their names: Nimrod is lost to Orion, and Osiris in the Dog Star. Indeed, old families last not three oaks. To set one's name to a work gives no one a title to be remembered, for who knows how many of the best men have gone without a trace? The iniquity of oblivion blindly scatters her poppyseed and when wretchedness falls upon us one summer's day like snow, all we wish for is to be forgotten.”
― W.G. Sebald, The Rings of Saturn

“Combustion is the hidden principle behind every artefact we create. The making of a fish-hook, manufacture of a china cup, or production of a television programme, all depend on the same process of combustion. Like our bodies and like our desires, the machines we have devised are possessed of a heart which is slowly reduced to embers. From the earliest times, human civilization has been no more than a strange luminescence growing more intense by the hour, of which no one can say when it will begin to wane and when it will fade away.”
― W.G. Sebald, The Rings of Saturn