Tim Edison > Recent Status Updates

"The battle-line against hunger, against ignorance, against poverty and against unawareness ought to be ever present in the muscles and the intelligences of men and women." (P. 164)

"Human history is not the battle of good struggling to overcome evil. It is a battle fought by great evil struggling to crush a small kernel of human kindness."
- Vasily Grossman

"[Gary] Cohn believed if they had completed the work on the intellectual property case against China, they would have had the allies on board for a blockbuster trade case. It would have been most of the world against China. Their economic rival would be isolated. [Instead] Steel tariffs upended all of that."

- Trump the diabolical....... imbecile.

“Sir,” suddenly exclaimed the countess, after their walk had continued ten minutes in silence, “is it true that you have seen so much, travelled so far and suffered so deeply?”
“I have suffered deeply, madame,” answered Monte Cristo.

“I suffer, but even so I do not live. I am the ‘x’ in an indeterminate equation. I am one of life’s ghosts who has lost all ends and the beginnings, and even at last forgotten what to call myself.” p.821
- Part of a monologue delivered by a hallucination, the ‘shadow’ of Ivan’s psyche or Satan.

"Just as I'm guarded by a prison-door, so my heart guards your memory." (p.30)

“Is it not true that no two human beings understand anything whatsoever about each other, that those who consider themselves bosom friends may be utterly mistaken about their fellow and, failing to realize this sad truth throughout a lifetime, weep when they read in the newspapers about his death?”

Excerpt From: Osamu, Dazai. “No Longer Human.”

"... something like a current of misery an inch wide flowed over the surface of her body."

'There isn't a single eastern religion,' said Berlioz, 'in which, as a rule, a chaste virgin doesn't give birth to a god. And without inventing anything new, in exactly the same way, the Christians created their Jesus, who in reality never actually lived...'

“The hottest horse will oft be cool,
The dullest will show fire;
The friar will often play the fool,
The fool will play the friar.
—Old Song”

I don't write anything. I simply have my favourite words and try to find an appropriate place for them.

The proletariat's problem is no longer how to seize power but how to abolish power forever.

Most people are well acquainted with the malaise that accompanies any attempt to join a group and make contac with others. This feeling amounts to stage fright, the feeling of not playing one's part properly. Only with the crumbling of officially controllable attitudes and poses will the true source of this anxiety become clear to us.

Do not worry meester Trumps. I will peck at your coarse orange scales and Make You Great Again ... the perfect serpent.

So thoroughly, indeed, has habit mutilated human beings that they mistake self-mutilation with obedience to a law of nature ... At all events, it befits the slave mentality to equate Power with the only possible form of life, namely survival. And naturally it suits the masters' purposes to encourage such sentiments.

Art, which is an economy of lived moments, has been absorbed by business. Desires and dreams are now the raw material of marketing. Everyday life has disintegrated into a succession of instants as interchangeable as the gadgets that define them: mixers, stereos, diaphragms, euphorimeters, sleeping pills.

The organisation of work and the organisation of leisure are the twin blades of castrating shears whose job is to improve the race of fawning dogs.

It is not so much death that terrifies twentieth-century humanity as the absence of real life: the lifeless gestures, the mechanised, specialised gestures that steal portions of life hundreds, thousands of times a day until mind and body are exhausted, until an end comes that is less the end of life than an absence at saturation point.

But what about the impossibility of living, this stifling mediocrity, this absence of passion? This jealous fury to which we are driven when the rankling of never being ourselves makes us imagine that others are happy? This feeling of never really being inside your own skin? Let nobody say these are minor details or secondary considerations.

But what about the impossibility of living, this stifling mediocrity, this absence of passion? This jealous fury to which we are driven when the rankling of never being ourselves makes us imagine that others are happy? This feeling of never really being inside your own skin? Let nobody say these are minor details or secondary considerations.

Who wants a world where the guarantee of freedom from starvation means the risk of death from boredom?

Come to free the words
To free the words come
Free the words to come
The words come to free
Words come to free thee!

One's life, far from being an exterior thing, grows inwards. It's intensity stays the same; and, d'you know, it's most mysterious, the corners in which the joys of living can sometimes hide away.

Marijuana is a benevolent narcotic but J. Edgar Hoover prefers his scotch.

Through writing I have attained what I was seeking. What will guide me, as something learned, is not what I have lived, but the tone in which I tell of it. Not the anecdotes, but the work of art. Not my life, but the interpretation of it. It is what language offers me to evoke it, to talk about it, render it.

Mythologies are full of heroes who are changed into servants.

I thus resolutely rejected a world which had rejected me.

"A well known story has Diogenes of Sinope, a leading light of early Cynicism, masturbating in public, capping his performance with the witticism "if only it were possible to relieve hunger so easily". Cynics, indeed, were also known for their mischievous sense of humour. "

I have worked hard for my nightmares.