Years and years to waken from that sleep in which the others loll; then years and years to scape that awakening…
Melancholy: an appetite no misery satisfies.
from Syllogismes De L’amertume [ All gall is divided: gnomes and apothegms]
I feel I am free but I know I am not.
happy belated 100th birthday to Emil Cioran [April 8, 1911 – June 20, 1995]
In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.
The truly solitary being is not the man who is abandoned by men, but the man who suffers in their midst, who drags his desert through the marketplace and deploys his talents as a smiling leper, a mountebank of the irreparable. The great solitaries were happy in the old days, knew nothing of duplicity, had nothing to hide: they conversed only with their own solitude.
The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility.
A book is a suicide postponed.
Reality gives me asthma.
Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, Chaos is being yourself.
from Précis de décomposition by E.Cioran
[also known as A Short History of Decay]
one of my favorite quotes from my favorite writer…
Andrei Codrescu on Cioran
“He was so depressing that he was tonic. I mean he had this sort of an uncompromising view of life as series of disasters, and that, for some reason, makes me happy. In his world there were cosmic accidents, huge ontological mistakes, but there was a great vitality to his diagnosis. He burst with health. He told you that everything was dying but he told it to you in such a vital way, with such a sense of humor, that you felt absolutely buoyed by it.” via Planet Cioran
(Codrescu is talking about hanging out with Cioran, but I think this is why everyone who reads Cioran reads Cioran.) said ajourneyroundmyskull and i concurred,although i would say ‘read and love’ instead of just read;]
No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one.
Emile M. Cioran
from The Trouble With Being Born
All philosophers should end their days at Pythia’s feet.There is only one philosophy,that of unique moments.
All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher.
from Camelia’s intro on The Book of Delusions
yes,yes,yes! my copy is already printed and adored;]
thank you i12bent
Emil Cioran - RULES AGAINST FALLING PRAY TO MELANCHOLY
to think of the world politically (power and domination);
to make rhythm divine: a military march before a symphony;
to hate all the colors: they awaken spiritual states which end fatally in melancholy; even red dissolves everything, if we are immersed in it a long time. To lose ourselves in the last degradation of the color white, to lose ourselves in the absence of color;
to not look for nuances in feelings; each of them exerts a suggestion, seducing us, and one by one we glide into ourselves as into the unknown;
everything is heartrending, melancholy tells us. To which we would answer: to die objectively;
to be a margin to yourself;
to give a dancing expression to all feelings; to search ourselves on the outside; to take ourselves out into the world of exterior signs;
everything is about overcoming the sensation of weakness which dissolves the body and the soul. And in order to conquer, there is no modality that is either too delicate or too vulgar. To think music politically;
to deliver force through thoughts, and to force the feelings to serve it;
to tear yourself apart in form. A methodology of breaking-up; to liquidate yourself in good taste and in control; to die, that is, to lose your trajectory;
to untie the fear of your own destiny.