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Intellectual limitation and human cruelty know no bounds

A death that nobody noticed was twice as scandalous

the miracle, the suffering, his own impotence, his helplessness to do anything for the wretches who beg and plead with him, to tell them of his helplessness, to ask for their mercy, for a human word, to implore them to believe him, believe in his impotence

is it the ascension of his soul to heaven, the moment when soul shears away from body, christian soul from pagan body, sinful body from sinful soul, to which mercy is granted, whose sins are forgiven?

was it a god-like dream, a dream of time and eternity? a dream without illusions and doubts, a dream with clear-cut boundaries, with its own language and sound, a dream that is palpable, that can be explored with taste, smell, and hearing, a dream stronger than waking, a dream such as perhaps only the dead can dream…the only miracle in this dream is life itself; awakening from this dream means awakening into death

was it the dream of a sleepwalker, a dream within a dream, and hence more real than a dream, since it cannot be measured against waking, since it cannot be measured by consciousness, because it is a dream from which one awakens into another dream?

and then i notice that the people are behaving the same way. they’re all carrying themselves just like in the scene from everyone’s favorite movie, ‘the cranes are flying’ - a lone tear, short words of farewell. it turned out we were all looking for a form of behavior that was familiar to us. we wanted to live up to the moment, and this is what we remembered.

my heart turned so hard, it would have struck her dead if i had thrown it

i don’t want to think about anything at all, there’s nothing to think about, because i myself am nothing, apart from being summoned

the relationship between drinkers and bottles is more like the one between the couples in wedding pictures: they bring each other to ruin, and still they won’t let go

so that I could have, in my hours of despair, some proof that his life had not been in vain, that there are still people on earth who record and value every life, every suffering, every human existence

and this is what I consider the compilers’ central message — nothing in the history of mankind is ever repeated, things that at first glance seem the same are scarcely even similar; each individual is a star unto himself, everything happens always and never, all things repeat themselves endlessly and unrepeatably… this is why every human being is sacred

auschwitz, i said to my wife, manifests itself to me in the image of a father; yes, the words father and auschwitz elicit the same echo within me, i said to my wife. and if the assertion that god is a glorified father figure holds any truth, then god manifested himself to me in the image of auschwitz

under certain circumstances, at a certain temperature, metaphorically speaking, words lose their substance, their content, their meaning, they simply deliquesce, so that in this vaporous state deeds alone, naked deeds, show any tendency to solidity, it is deeds alone that we can take in our hands, so to speak, and examine like a mute lump of mineral, like a crystal

our true situation, what it is you are serving...is neither necessary nor unnecessary but simply a matter of decisions...neither satanic nor unfathomably and spellbindingly intricate, nor something that majestically sweeps us up with it, no, it is just vulgar, mean, murderous, stupid, hypocritical, and even at the moments of its greatest achievements at best merely well organized

the question...[of] my existence viewed as the potentiality of your being...was altered, once and for all, in the following manner: your non-existence viewed as the necessary and radical liquidation of my own existence

silence is for prayer; it is itself like a prayer

the signal was given, the barriers were down. as has so often happened in the history of man, permission was tacitly granted for acts of violence and plunder, even for murder, if they were carried out in the name of higher interests, according to established rules, and against a limited number of men of a particular type and belief

the natural conclusion of all these internal conflicts was the thought of death which always lurks on the frontiers of every dream of happiness. to die, thought zorka, to slip from the kapia into the river as if by chance...to die, she thought...before going to sleep and on recovering consciousness in the morning, [and in] the most lively conversations...but one does not die, but lives with that insupportable thought

and when everything is withered, broken, soiled, humiliated, disintegrated and destroyed about you, then you will remain alone in the wilderness you have yourself created, face to face with your vanity and you will have nothing to offer it. then you will devour yourself, but that will not help you, for your vanity accustomed to richer food will despise and reject you.

you submit everything to your vanity but you are yourself the first of its slaves and its greatest martyr. it may well be that you will have still greater glory and success...but you will find no satisfaction in any one thing, for your vanity will whip you onwards, for it swallows everything, even the greatest successes and then forgets them immediately, but the slightest failure or insult it will remember forever.

i know your very soul and i know that you are a monster of vanity.

someone else's sorrow cannot move you, how much less hurt you; not even your own sorrow unless it flatters your vanity. you desire nothing and you find joy in nothing.

instead of conscience it is only your own wounded vanity that can sting you, for it alone, always and in everything, speaks with your mouth and dictates your actions.

they went out into the world, chose more or less for themselves...the subject of their studies, the nature of their entertainments and the circle of their friends...all that other[s]...[had] attained in the course of generations, through centuries of effort, at the cost of lives, of renunciations and of sacrifices greater and dearer than life, now lay before them as a chance inheritance and a dangerous gift of fate.

whenever a government feels the need of promising peace and prosperity to its citizens by means of a proclamation, it is time to be on guard and expect the opposite

there, on the other side; let those ask about his sins who will ask all the rest of us about ours

now go to the devil who sent you to me 🔥

“gorbachev sucked because he wasn’t russian enough and he wasn’t russian enough because he actually loved his wife” nobel prize was not enough for having to write this down

sonechka fan returning to her roots

off to a really positive start, national suicide day is my birthday