Why did I chose such a weak personality to fake ?
Kind people are the ones who have one sided loves.
Inequality is not evil. Equality itself is evil.
False tears are capable of hurting other people. False smiles are capable of hurting oneself.
duminică, 27 decembrie 2009
sâmbătă, 26 decembrie 2009
Ghost in the Shell 2 Innocence - anime
If our gods and our hopes are nothing but scientific phenomena, then it must be said that our love is scientific as well.
It is no use to blame the looking glass if your face is askew. The mirror is not an instrument of enlightenment but of illusion.
Why are humans so obsessed with recreating themselves?
Children have been excluded from the customary standards of human behavior, if you define humans as beings who possess a conventional identity and act out of free will. Then what are children who endure in the chaos preceding maturity? They differ profoundly from "humans," but they obviously have human form.
A fine spring day. A carriage sprints between this world and the next.
But everything still holds me. In my heart. Hidden deep in my mind. – River of Crystals.
One need not be Caesar in order to understand Caesar.
Let one walk alone, committing no sin, with few wishes, like an elephant in the forest.
The world cannot live at the level of its great men.
What the body creates is as much an expression of DNA as the body itself.
How great is the sum of thy thoughts. If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand.
The less one forgets the less one can remember.
T here's loyalty that protects secrets and loyalty that protects the truth.
There's no truth without secrets.
Life and death come and go like marionettes dancing on a table. Once their strings are cut, they easily crumble.
No matter how far a jackass travels, it won't come back a horse.
The deceased firmly declines offerings of fresh or artificial flowers or birds released in his honor.
Sleep not, you of the dead.
The definition of a truly beautiful doll is a living, breathing body, devoid of a soul. "An unyielding corpse, tiptoeing on the brink of collapse."
The human is no match for a doll, in its form, its elegance in motion, its very being. The inadequacies of human awareness become the inadequacies of life's reality. Perfection is possible only for those without consciousness, or perhaps endowed with infinite consciousness. In other words, for dolls and for gods. Actually, there's one more mode of existence commensurate with dolls and deities. Shelley's skylarks are suffused with a profound, instinctive joy. Joy we humans, driven by self-consciousness, can never know. For those of us who lust after knowledge, it is a condition more elusive than godhood.
Without knowing life, how can we know death?
Most meet death unprepared, armed only with ignorant familiarity.
The deceased hereby proclaims that on this day of this month, I have attained my own celebrated death.
The doubt is whether a creature that certainly appears to be alive really is. Alternatively, the doubt that a lifeless object might actually live. That's why dolls haunt us. They are modeled on humans. They are, in fact, nothing but human. They make us face the terror of being reduced to simple mechanisms and matter. In other words, the fear that, fundamentally, all humans belong to the void. Further, science, seeking to unlock the secret of life, brought about this terror. The notion that nature is calculable inevitably leads to the conclusion that humans too, are reducible to basic, mechanical parts.
The human body is a machine which winds its own springs. It is the living image of perpetual motion.
Just as luck appears in threes, misfortune also arrives three times.
A gaze averted in discomfort, a realization unspoken, advice unbidden. Without noticing, we welcome catastrophe.
How can you disprove this reality is genuine or an extension of false illusions generated by virtual signals?
Humans are nothing but the thread from which the dream of life is woven.
If dreams, consciousness, even ghosts are no more than rifts and warps in the uniform weave of the matrix.
If you don't believe in ghosts, you'll never know madness or schizophrenia, either.
There is no way to distinguish reminiscence from true memory.
Birds seek refuge in the heavens, fish dive deep into the sea.
Who can gaze into the mirror without becoming evil? A mirror does not reflect evil, but creates it.
Thus, a mirror bears a glimpse, but not scrutiny.
We weep for the bird's cry, but not for the blood of a fish. Blessed are those who have voice.
If the dolls could speak, no doubt they'd scream: "I didn't want to become human.”.
- Do you consider yourself happy?
- A nostalgic value, I suppose. At least I am free of qualms.
It is no use to blame the looking glass if your face is askew. The mirror is not an instrument of enlightenment but of illusion.
Why are humans so obsessed with recreating themselves?
Children have been excluded from the customary standards of human behavior, if you define humans as beings who possess a conventional identity and act out of free will. Then what are children who endure in the chaos preceding maturity? They differ profoundly from "humans," but they obviously have human form.
A fine spring day. A carriage sprints between this world and the next.
But everything still holds me. In my heart. Hidden deep in my mind. – River of Crystals.
One need not be Caesar in order to understand Caesar.
Let one walk alone, committing no sin, with few wishes, like an elephant in the forest.
The world cannot live at the level of its great men.
What the body creates is as much an expression of DNA as the body itself.
How great is the sum of thy thoughts. If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand.
The less one forgets the less one can remember.
T here's loyalty that protects secrets and loyalty that protects the truth.
There's no truth without secrets.
Life and death come and go like marionettes dancing on a table. Once their strings are cut, they easily crumble.
No matter how far a jackass travels, it won't come back a horse.
The deceased firmly declines offerings of fresh or artificial flowers or birds released in his honor.
Sleep not, you of the dead.
The definition of a truly beautiful doll is a living, breathing body, devoid of a soul. "An unyielding corpse, tiptoeing on the brink of collapse."
The human is no match for a doll, in its form, its elegance in motion, its very being. The inadequacies of human awareness become the inadequacies of life's reality. Perfection is possible only for those without consciousness, or perhaps endowed with infinite consciousness. In other words, for dolls and for gods. Actually, there's one more mode of existence commensurate with dolls and deities. Shelley's skylarks are suffused with a profound, instinctive joy. Joy we humans, driven by self-consciousness, can never know. For those of us who lust after knowledge, it is a condition more elusive than godhood.
Without knowing life, how can we know death?
Most meet death unprepared, armed only with ignorant familiarity.
The deceased hereby proclaims that on this day of this month, I have attained my own celebrated death.
The doubt is whether a creature that certainly appears to be alive really is. Alternatively, the doubt that a lifeless object might actually live. That's why dolls haunt us. They are modeled on humans. They are, in fact, nothing but human. They make us face the terror of being reduced to simple mechanisms and matter. In other words, the fear that, fundamentally, all humans belong to the void. Further, science, seeking to unlock the secret of life, brought about this terror. The notion that nature is calculable inevitably leads to the conclusion that humans too, are reducible to basic, mechanical parts.
The human body is a machine which winds its own springs. It is the living image of perpetual motion.
Just as luck appears in threes, misfortune also arrives three times.
A gaze averted in discomfort, a realization unspoken, advice unbidden. Without noticing, we welcome catastrophe.
How can you disprove this reality is genuine or an extension of false illusions generated by virtual signals?
Humans are nothing but the thread from which the dream of life is woven.
If dreams, consciousness, even ghosts are no more than rifts and warps in the uniform weave of the matrix.
If you don't believe in ghosts, you'll never know madness or schizophrenia, either.
There is no way to distinguish reminiscence from true memory.
Birds seek refuge in the heavens, fish dive deep into the sea.
Who can gaze into the mirror without becoming evil? A mirror does not reflect evil, but creates it.
Thus, a mirror bears a glimpse, but not scrutiny.
We weep for the bird's cry, but not for the blood of a fish. Blessed are those who have voice.
If the dolls could speak, no doubt they'd scream: "I didn't want to become human.”.
- Do you consider yourself happy?
- A nostalgic value, I suppose. At least I am free of qualms.
Lorelei - Ionel Teodoreanu
Un lied de Schumann te tulbură cu prezenţa dragostii la optsprezece ani, fără să-ţea de nevoia de-a-l strânge în braţe, de-a-l avea numai tu, de-ai spune "tu" ochi în ochi, respirându-l posesiv.
Îţi venea s-o respiri, nu s-o priveşti.
Lipsa de încântare a celorlalţi [...] îi dădeau certitudinea că ceilalţi n-o văd, nu ca se-nşală.
Ceea ce [...] îi apăruse ca o răsplată firească din partea ei, acum ăi apărea ca un sacrificiu de care nu se simţea capabilă.
Îşi dădu seama cât de umilitor ar fi fost pentru el ca ea să accepte un alt dansator întru zâmbet la fereastra priveliştilor.
E tare ciudat să vezi cu mintea că s-a sfârşit, aşa cum e normal să fie, ceva abea început în enormul absurd al inimii.ţ
Îndrăgostirile se nasc din lipsa de contact cu subconştientul.
Acesta era blestemul: singurătatea regăsită în iubire, altfel decât în lupta vieţii. Iubeşti ca să nu fii singur, ca să te însoţeşti. Dar iubind, te îndrăgosteşti de altcineva decât de omul real [...] pe care crezi că-l ai prin gestul de cuprindere şi însoţire, al dragostii.
Noaptea predispune la exagerări.
Expresia fericirii nu e un râs, e numai strălucirea lui pură.
Tot ce, știut, se învechise, trăit, devenea noi. Inima-și trimitea bătaia în fiecare gând. [...] Secundele nu mai erau treptele de pivniță sau de pod ale timpului, ci terasele lui, tipsiile imensității lui oferite.
Zâmbetul feminin al unei eterne tăceri.
Dragostea nu va spune niciodată: am ascultat o femeie. Femeile însă nu știu să asculte decât vorbele dragostii, nu și gândurile ei.
Îţi venea s-o respiri, nu s-o priveşti.
Lipsa de încântare a celorlalţi [...] îi dădeau certitudinea că ceilalţi n-o văd, nu ca se-nşală.
Ceea ce [...] îi apăruse ca o răsplată firească din partea ei, acum ăi apărea ca un sacrificiu de care nu se simţea capabilă.
Îşi dădu seama cât de umilitor ar fi fost pentru el ca ea să accepte un alt dansator întru zâmbet la fereastra priveliştilor.
E tare ciudat să vezi cu mintea că s-a sfârşit, aşa cum e normal să fie, ceva abea început în enormul absurd al inimii.ţ
Îndrăgostirile se nasc din lipsa de contact cu subconştientul.
Acesta era blestemul: singurătatea regăsită în iubire, altfel decât în lupta vieţii. Iubeşti ca să nu fii singur, ca să te însoţeşti. Dar iubind, te îndrăgosteşti de altcineva decât de omul real [...] pe care crezi că-l ai prin gestul de cuprindere şi însoţire, al dragostii.
Noaptea predispune la exagerări.
Expresia fericirii nu e un râs, e numai strălucirea lui pură.
Tot ce, știut, se învechise, trăit, devenea noi. Inima-și trimitea bătaia în fiecare gând. [...] Secundele nu mai erau treptele de pivniță sau de pod ale timpului, ci terasele lui, tipsiile imensității lui oferite.
Zâmbetul feminin al unei eterne tăceri.
Dragostea nu va spune niciodată: am ascultat o femeie. Femeile însă nu știu să asculte decât vorbele dragostii, nu și gândurile ei.
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