#oliver sacks

[eosphoroz]

"But if you want a name, let me call it the gateway between life and death. I'll bring you with me through this gateway. And why? Because I am a coward. And I love you too much to let you go."

[explore-blog]

The meaning of life… clearly has to do with love — what and whom and how one can love.

Oliver Sacks, who would have been 93 today, on despair and the meaning of life.

[shisasan]

Oliver Sacks

[entheognosis]

There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate—the genetic and neural fate—of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death. I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude.

Oliver Sacks

[convergingtimelines]

“My religion is nature. That’s what arouses those feelings of wonder and mysticism and gratitude in me.” Oliver Sacks

[in-love-with-movies]

Awakenings (1990)

[kafkasapartment]

* "I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my prevailing feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written...Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure." - Oliver Sacks, "My Own Life" (2015).

[rage-space]

Everything is public now, potentially: one’s thoughts, one’s photos, one’s movements, one’s purchases. There is no privacy and apparently little desire for it in a world devoted to non-stop use of social media. Every minute, every second, has to be spent with one’s device clutched in one’s hand. Those trapped in this virtual world are never alone, never able to concentrate and appreciate in their own way, silently. They have given up, to a great extent, the amenities and achievements of civilization: solitude and leisure, the sanction to be oneself, truly absorbed, whether in contemplating a work of art, a scientific theory, a sunset, or the face of one’s beloved.

Oliver Sacks - The Machine Stops (2019) https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/02/11/the-machine-stops