Britt Aamodt

“It’s curious,” I said slowly. “Miss Marple was saying this evening that that note was all wrong.” “Confound the woman, she couldn’t know more about it if she had committed the murder herself.”
― Agatha Christie, The Complete Miss Marple Collection

“Nietzsche needed no flamboyance, no outward proof of genius, so long as he had his illness. It enabled him to live numberless lifetimes within one. She noticed how his life fell into a general pattern. A regular recurrent decline into sickness always demarcated one period of his life from another. Every illness was a death, a dip down into Hades. Every recuperation was a joyful rebirth, a regeneration. This mode of existence refreshed him. During each fleeting recuperation the world gleamed anew. And so each recuperation became not only his own rebirth, but also the birth of a whole new world, a new set of problems that demanded new answers. It was like the annual fertility cycle of the god being plowed into the ground.”
― Sue Prideaux, I Am Dynamite! A Life of Nietzsche

“There is a certain tyranny about perfection, a certain exhaustion about it even, something that denies the viewer a role in its creation and that asserts itself with all the dogmatism of an unambiguous statement. True beauty cannot be measured because it is fluctuating, it has only a few angles from which it may be seen, and then not in all lights and at all times. It flirts dangerously with ugliness, it takes risks with itself, it does not side comfortably with mathematical rules of proportion, it draws its appeal from precisely those areas that will also lend themselves to ugliness. Nothing can be beautiful that does not take a calculated risk with ugliness.”
― Alain de Botton, On Love

“Never to lie is to have no lock to your door, you are never wholly alone”
― Elizabeth Bowen, The House in Paris