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I shall not die before I have once more drunk deeply of conversation with you, beloved of my heart, before I have looked upon your dead faces and poured my soul out to you once more.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

The castle of the one is as much a prison as the mountain fold of the other.

Plato, "Theaetetus"

Tumblr has become too much a sea of memes, gifs, pretty pictures, and rebloggings. From the start reblogging has always been a key to the game, but then again there was much more independent content. Get out: write, read, take pictures or videos… do something real and important of your own!

Perhaps this is why I’ve left this channel for other haunts.

There are books that are objects of art and that are going to endure history and go down through the ages and you definitely want to print those. But crappy romance novels? You really want to kill a tree for them?

qtd. in John B. Thompson’s “Merchants of Culture"

We all have cures for strong feeling. Then the self-cure becomes a problem, in the obvious sense that the problem of the alcoholic is not alcohol but sobriety. Drinking becomes a problem, but actually the problem is what’s being cured by the alcohol. By the time we’re adults, we’ve all become alcoholics. That’s to say, we’ve all evolved ways of deadening certain feelings and thoughts. One of the reasons we admire or like art, if we do, is that it reopens us in some sense—as Kafka wrote in a letter, art breaks the sea that’s frozen inside us. Freud gets at this in Beyond the Pleasure Principle. It’s as though one is struggling to be as inert as possible—and struggling t against one’s inertia.

Adam Phillips, “The Art of Nonfiction No. 7,” The Paris Review, Spring 2014

…but Dennis came of an earlier civilization with sharper needs. He sought the intangible, the veiled face in the fog, the silhouette at the lighted doorway, the secret graces of a body which hid itself under formal velvet. He did not covet the spoils of this rich continent, the sprawling limbs of the swimming-pool, the wide-open painted eyes and mouths under the arc-lamps.

Evelyn Waugh, “The Loved One”

One wants to get something off one's chest. One doesn't know quite what it is that one wants to get off the chest until one's got it off.

T.S. Eliot, "The Art of Poetry No. 1," The Paris Review

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And there were always books in shelves on the wall, beautifully bound or carefully covered in paper, for he loved books like pet animals...You felt that every detail had been carefully chosen and was tenderly cared for. If you lent him a book, it would be returned to you wrapped in smooth tissue paper and tied with a coloured ribbon, like a present."

Stefan Zweig, The World of Yesterday

nprmusic

There’s no way around it — the Shostakovich quartets are intense, like page-turning thrillers, as they pull you into his world.

Watch the Pacifica Quartet play Shostakovich at NPR’s Tiny Desk.

These glorious insults are from an era before the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words. A member of Parliament to Disraeli: "Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease". That depends, Sir,” said Disraeli, “whether I embrace your policies or...

critical-theory

Greek philosopher Diogenes was way cooler than anyone you learned about in grade school

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