“When she does not find love, she may find poetry. Because she does not act, she observes, she feels, she records; a color, a smile awakens profound echoes within her; her destiny is outside her, scattered in cities already built, on the faces of men already marked by life, she makes contact, she relishes with passion and yet in a manner more detached, more free, than that of a young man. Being poorly integrated in the universe of humanity and hardly able to adapt herself therein, she, like the child, is able to see it objectively; instead of being interested solely in her grasp on things, she looks for their significance; she catches their special outlines, their unexpected metamorphoses. She rarely feels a bold creativeness, and usually she lacks the technique of self-expression; but in her conversation, her letters, her literary essays, her sketches, she manifests an original sensitivity. The young girl throws herself into things with ardor, because she is not yet deprived of her transcendence; and the fact that she accomplishes nothing, that she is nothing, will make her impulses only the more passionate. Empty and unlimited, she seeks from within her nothingness to attain All.”
― The Second Sex
― The Second Sex
“I once went to report on a village in Russia, a community of
artists who were forced to flee the cities! I'd heard that paintings hung everywhere! I heard
you couldn't see the walls through all of the paintings! They'd painted the ceilings, the 82
plates, the windows, the lampshades! Was it an act of rebellion! An act of expression!
Were the paintings good, or was that beside the point! I needed to see it for myself, and I
needed to tell the world about it! I used to live for reporting like that! Stalin found out
about the community and sent his thugs in, just a few days before I got there, to break all
of their arms! That was worse than killing them! It was a horrible sight, Oskar: their arms
in crude splints, straight in front of them like zombies! They couldn't feed themselves, because they couldn't get their hands to their mouths! So you know what they did!'
'They starved?'
'They fed each other! That's the difference between heaven and hell! In hell we starve! In
heaven we feed each other!”
― Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
artists who were forced to flee the cities! I'd heard that paintings hung everywhere! I heard
you couldn't see the walls through all of the paintings! They'd painted the ceilings, the 82
plates, the windows, the lampshades! Was it an act of rebellion! An act of expression!
Were the paintings good, or was that beside the point! I needed to see it for myself, and I
needed to tell the world about it! I used to live for reporting like that! Stalin found out
about the community and sent his thugs in, just a few days before I got there, to break all
of their arms! That was worse than killing them! It was a horrible sight, Oskar: their arms
in crude splints, straight in front of them like zombies! They couldn't feed themselves, because they couldn't get their hands to their mouths! So you know what they did!'
'They starved?'
'They fed each other! That's the difference between heaven and hell! In hell we starve! In
heaven we feed each other!”
― Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
“She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”
―
―
“Two years he walks the Earth. No phone, no pool, no pets, no cigarettes. Ultimate freedom. An extremist. An aesthetic voyager whose home is the road. Escaped from Atlanta. Thou shalt not return, 'cause "the West is the best." And now after two rambling years comes the final and greatest adventure. The climactic battle to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual revolution. Ten days and nights of freight trains and hitchhiking bring him to the great white north. No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild.”
―
―
“I read the first chapter of A Brief History of Time when Dad was still alive, and I got incredibly heavy boots about how relatively insignificant life is, and how compared to the universe and compared to time, it didn't even matter if I existed at all. When Dad was tucking me in that night and we were talking about the book, I asked if he could think of a solution to that problem. "Which problem?" "The problem of how relatively insignificant we are." He said, "Well, what would happen if a plane dropped you in the middle of the Sahara Desert and you picked up a single grain of sand with tweezers and moved it one millimeter?" I said, "I'd probably die of dehydration." He said, "I just mean right then, when you moved that single grain of sand. What would that mean?" I said, "I dunno, what?" He said, "Think about it." I thought about it. "I guess I would have moved one grain of sand." "Which would mean?" "Which would mean I moved a grain of sand?" "Which would mean you changed the Sahara." "So?" "So? So the Sahara is a vast desert. And it has existed for millions of years. And you changed it!" "That's true!" I said, sitting up. "I changed the Sahara!" "Which means?" he said. "What? Tell me."
"Well I'm not talking about painting the Mona Lisa or curing cancer. I'm just talking about moving that one grain of sand one millimeter." "Yeah? If you hadn't done it, human history would have been one way..." "Uh-huh?" "But you did do it, so...?" I stood on the bed, pointing one of my fingers at the fake stars, and screamed: "I changed the course of human history!" "That's right." "I changed the universe!" "You did." "I'm God!" "You're an atheist." "I don't exist!" I fell back onto the bed, into his arms, and we cracked up together.”
―
"Well I'm not talking about painting the Mona Lisa or curing cancer. I'm just talking about moving that one grain of sand one millimeter." "Yeah? If you hadn't done it, human history would have been one way..." "Uh-huh?" "But you did do it, so...?" I stood on the bed, pointing one of my fingers at the fake stars, and screamed: "I changed the course of human history!" "That's right." "I changed the universe!" "You did." "I'm God!" "You're an atheist." "I don't exist!" I fell back onto the bed, into his arms, and we cracked up together.”
―
Luciano’s 2025 Year in Books
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