Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies.
At either of those places you felt that you were taking part in a crusade.† That was the only word for it although it was a word that had been so worn and abused that it no longer gave its true meaning.† You felt, in spite of all bureaucracy and inefficiency and part strife, something that was like the feeling you expected to have and did not have when you made your first communion.† It was a feeling of consecration to a duty toward all of the oppressed of the world which would be as difficult and embarrassing to speak about as religious experience and yet it was authentic as the feeling you had when you heard Bach, or stood in Chartres Cathedral or the Cathedral at Leon and saw the light coming through the great windows; or when you saw Mantegna and Greco and Brueghel in the Prado.† It gave you a part in something that you could believe in wholly and completely and in which you felt an absolute brotherhood with the others who were engaged in it.† It was something that you had never known before but that you had experienced now and you gave such importance to it and the reasons for it that your own death seemed of complete unimportance; only a thing to be avoided because it would interfere with the performance of your duty.† But the best thing was that there was something you could do about this feeling and this necessity too.† You could fight.
Madness need not be all breakdown.† It may also be break-through.† It is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death
When Iím in a sober mood, I worry grumble and think. // When Iím in a drunken mood, I gamble play and drink.//But when my moods are over, and my time has come to pass,//I hope Iím buried upside-down so the world can kiss my ass.
you only spend one day on your death bed... its the 30000 days before that actually matter
i miss him and i feel terrible that he died like that and it seems so unfair and such a waste. but i feel other things too, guilt especially. guilt that we left him on his own, that we didn't try harder. i think we should have done more. and i feel angry, angry at him. angry that he was so weak and didn't try harder. angry that he was such a genius but didn't do enough with it. sometimes you just have to be brave.
Life and death werenít opposites in Nature: one was merely an extension of the other.
Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.
Lifeís all about making mistakes, and deathís about wishing you made more.
ďMany old folktales portray Death as a cloaked figure who knocks on the doors of the souls he has come to whisk away, but that is not always the way of the world.† Sometimes Death may approach the door very slowly and very loudly, so that by the time he knocks everyone in the neighborhood is aware of his approach, or he may prefer to pick the lock of the back door and sit up all night in your kitchen until you stroll downstairs in your bathrobe and learn that he has been waiting for you, sitting in your favorite chair and rearranging your silverware when he got bored.Ē