Celibates

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Brentano's, 1915 - Irish fiction - 453 pages
 

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Page 300 - College overshadowed the beautiful slim body in which Divinity seemed to circulate like blood; and this photograph was all that now remained of much youthful anguish and much temptation. A fact to note is that his sense of reality had always remained in a rudimentary state; it was, as it were, diffused over the world and mankind. For instance, his belief in the misery and degradation of earthly life, and the natural bestiality of man, was incurable; but of this or that individual he had no opinion;...
Page 282 - I don't think I could live with a woman; there is something very degrading, something very gross in such relations. There is a better and a purer life to lead ... an inner life, coloured and permeated with feelings and tones that are, oh, how intensely our own, and he who may have this life, shrinks from any adventitious presence that might jar or destroy it. To keep oneself unspotted, to feel conscious of no sense of stain, to know, yes, to hear the heart repeat that this self — hands, face, mouth...
Page 298 - Joy is passion, passion is suffering; we cannot desire what we possess, therefore desire is rebellion prolonged indefinitely against the realities of existence; when we attain the object of our desire, we must perforce neglect it in favour of something still unknown, and so we progress from illusion to illusion. The winds of folly and desolation howl about us; the sorrows of happiness are the worst to bear, and the wise soon learn that there is nothing to dream of but the end of desire.... God is...
Page 275 - People don't interest me. I am interested in things much more than in people — in pictures, in music, in sculpture. When I'm abroad I like the streets, I like to see people moving about, I like to watch the spectacle of life, but I do not care to make acquaintances. As I grow older it seems to me that a process of alienation is going on between me and others.
Page 298 - I am merely an onlooker, the world is my monastery." We cannot desire what we possess; therefore desire is rebellion prolonged indefinitely against the realities of existence, when we attain the object of our desire, we must perforce neglect it in favour of something still unknown, and so we progress from illusion to illusion.
Page 365 - Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and the dread responsive rattle given back by the coffin lid.
Page 280 - Femina, dulce malum, pariter favus -atque venenum, Melle linens gladium cor confodit et sapientium.
Page 249 - Self had been her ruin; she had never been able to get away from self - no, not for a single moment of her life. All her love-stories had been ruined and disfigured by self-assertion, not a great unconscious self, in other words an instinct, but an extremely conscious, irritable, mean, and unworthy self. She knew it all, she was not deceived.
Page 298 - His happiness and ambitions appeared to him less than the scattering of a little sand on the sea-shore. Joy is passion, passion is suffering ; we cannot desire what we possess ; therefore desire is rebellion prolonged indefinitely against the realities of existence ; when we attain the object of our desire, we must perforce neglect it in favour of something still unknown, and so we progress from illusion to illusion. The winds of folly...
Page 280 - Finxit terribilem sapientia prisca Chimaeram, Cui non immerito fertur data forma triformis; Nam pars prima leo, pars ultima cauda draconis, At mediae partes nil sunt nisi fervidus ignis.

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