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We joked, ‘God is dead, Marx is dead, and I don’t feel so good either.’

We did not concern ourselves with what would happen next for the Pieds-Noirs and the Harkis in Algeria, or the Algerians in France. We hoped to go to Spain the following summer — a real bargain, according to everyone who’d been there.

Sometimes she’d compare herself to the fruits, and despising her external appearance, she’d eat herself internally, full of living juice as she was.

The potato was unsurpassed as food. She realized this, and it was a light hallelujah.

hahahahha. this book is so good. everything is an epiphany! you were born yesterday and you were born again today! the sky is blue! hallelujah!

that the taste of the fruit is in the contact of the fruit with the palate and not in the fruit itself.

Only the person herself can express to herself the inexpressible smell of raw fish—not in words: the only way of expressing it is to feel it once again.

“Mr. Ralph Touchett, an American who lives in Europe.” That signifirs absolutely nothing - it’s impossiblr that anything could signify less.

it’s ‘I’m tired of the sound of the word; I think it’s grotesque’ but i first read sound of the world which wouldve been a good banger

A woman, perhaps, can get on; a woman, it seems to me, has no natural place anywhere; wherever she finds herself she has to remain on the surface and, more or less, crawl.

‘Well, if you are so bent on being miserable, I don’t see why you should make me so. Whatever charms unhappiness may have for you, it has none for me.’

and our rustling, quickly-moving, clear-voiced heroine was as agreeable to his sense as the sound of flowing water.

‘You strike me as different from most girls.’

it’s been a line for centuries guys…. leaving the lexicon NEVER

I suppose the root of the resentment - a resentment which hides a bottomless terror - has to do with the fact that a woman is tremendously controlled by what the man’s imagination makes of her - literally, hour by hour, day by day; so she becomes a woman. But a man exists in his own imagination, and can never be at the mercy of a woman’s.

hm

I guess it can’t be too often that two people can laugh and make love, too, make love because they are laughing, laugh because they’re making love. The love and the lughter come from the same place: but not many people go there.

a standard imperialist misrepresentation has it that exclusively Western ideas of freedom led the fight against the colonial rule, which mischievously overlooks the reserves in Indian and Arab culture that always resisted imperialism, and claims the fight against imperialism as one of imperialism’s major triumphs

Such innovations are unthinkable now that the public has been displaced by the consumer.

Students are aware that if they don’t attend for weeks on end, and/or if they don’t produce any work, they will not face any meaningful sanction. They typically respond to this freedom not by pursuing projects but by falling into hedonic (or anhedonic) lassitude: the soft narcosis, the comfort food oblivion of Playstaion, all-night TV and marijuana.

Capitalist ideology in general, Zizek maintains, consists precisely in the overvaluing of belief - in the sense of inner subjective attitude - at the expense of the beliefs we exhibit and externalize in our behavior. So long as we believe (in our hearts) that capitalism is bad, we are free to continue to participate in capitalist exchange.

Eliot’s claim was that the exhaustion of the future does not even leave us with the past. Tradition counts for jothing when it is no longer contested and modified. A culture that is merely preserved is no culture at all.

You have such a delicious sense of humor — I adore that in you. I want always to see you laughing. It belongs to you.

He said I could only write like that, with imaginative intensity, because I had not lived out what I was writing about, that the living-out kills the imagination and the intensity, as happens to him.