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Frankenstein
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  (page 34 of 273)
"Caroline Beaufort has the correct response to suffering:

You do not retreat into pride or obsession.
You take responsibility for the fragile thing in front of you."
Jan 17, 2026 02:00AM

 
The Art of Spendi...
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Charles Bukowski
“When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill. It was good to be old, no matter what they said. It was reasonable that a man had to be at least 50 years old before he could write with anything like clarity.”
Charles Bukowski, Women

Simone de Beauvoir
“I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish… You see, it is difficult to get all which I want. And then when I do not succeed I get mad with anger.”
Simone de Beauvoir

Haruki Murakami
“Once she was out of the car and gone, my world was suddenly hollow and meaningless.”
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

Charles Bukowski
“Once a woman turns against you, forget it. They can love you, then something turns in them. They can watch you dying in a gutter, run over by a car, and they'll spit on you.”
Charles Bukowski, Women

Albert Camus
“Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it. We live on the future: “tomorrow,” “later on,” “when you have made your way,” “you will understand when you are old enough.” Such irrelevancies are wonderful, for, after all, it’s a matter of dying. Yet a day comes when a man notices or says that he is thirty. Thus he asserts his youth. But simultaneously he situates himself in relation to time. He takes his place in it. He admits that he stands at a certain point on a curve that he acknowledges having to travel to its end. He belongs to time, and by the horror that seizes him, he recognizes his worst enemy. Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it. That revolt of the flesh is the absurd.”
Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays

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