“If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.”
— Charles Bukowski
— Charles Bukowski
People have become slaves of probability
— Frederik Pohl, Pórtico
We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Arabia. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here.
You’re not living, you’re only killing time.
No se trataba del arte por el arte, sino del arte en pro de la paz mental
My thoughts are like stars I can’t fathom into constellations.
