Camus’ distinction between revolution and rebellion directly echoes Stirner’s between revolution and insurrection. Revolution changes little since it merely substitutes one set of masters for another, whereas rebellion may change human nature by creating a new metaphysics and morals.
“remember two things: i. that everything has always been the same, and keeps recurring, and it makes no difference whether you see the same things recur in a hundred years or two hundred, or in an infinite period; ii. that the longest-lived and those who will die soonest lose the same thing. the present is all that they can give up, since that is all you have, and what you do not have you cannot lose.”
“what we do now echoes in eternity.”
"thou must be like a promontory of the sea, against which though the waves beat continually, yet it both itself stands, and about it are those swelling waves stilled and quieted."
“the blazing fire makes flames and brightness out of everything thrown into it.”
“the first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit. the second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are.”
“reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.”
“your days are numbered. use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. if you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it.”
“whenever you are about to find fault with someone, ask yourself the following question: what fault of mine most nearly resembles the one i am about to criticize?”
“death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.”
"within a very little while, thou wilt be either ashes, or a sceletum; and a name perchance; and perchance, not so much as a name. and what is that but an empty sound, and a rebounding echo? those things which in this life are dearest but vain, putrid, contemptible. tho most weighty and serious, if rightly esteemed, but as puppies, biting one another: or untoward children, now laughing and then crying. as for
Reklam
There was an explorer at the beginning of the nineteenth century called Alexander von Humboldt. He was in Venezuela and found an old parrot that still repeated words from the language of the Ature tribe. Nobody else did, because the Atures had been wiped out a few years before. Another tribe had slaughtered every last one of them and returned victorious with, among other things, a pet parrot. This parrot still spoke only words from the tribe that had raised him. So all that was left of a Venezuelan civilisation were the echoes and repetitions of a parrot.
Only in Gaza;
You sleep counting rockets rather than stars.
You wake up, if you wake up, to the sounds of bombs rather than birds.
Only in Gaza;
You sleep not knowing if, or how, you’ll wake up.
In Gaza,
You sleep in your house,
And you wake up under the rubble.
In Gaza,
You sleep with your body parts whole,
And you wake up missing a hand or a leg.
In Gaza,
You sleep beside family and friends,
And the next day you are on your own.
Only in Gaza;
People celebrate birthdays while war echoes in the background, then welcome you into a tent with warm hands and a cup of tea.
Only in Gaza;
Despite the pain,
People remain.
Not just survivors,
But warriors.
Bizler, DNA'mızın derinliklerinde gömülü ilkel dürtülerle hareket eden hayvanlardan başka bir şey değiliz.
Sword Buddies
“Nia.” Raphael takes a step closer, his sword drawn. He looks
confused, his dark eyebrows drawn together. A faint look of hurt
shines in his silver eyes.
I swallow. “Raphael.”
Talan unsheathes his own sword, the scrape of metal piercing the tense
silence.
I hold up my hand again. “Don’t, Talan.”
“It’s true,” Raphael says in a voice rough as broken glass. “You’re
working for this living nightmare.”
“Not working for me.” Talan’s smooth, silky voice echoes off the highvaulted ceiling. “I’m a terrible boss, ask anyone. She’s my wife. But I do
recognize you. The Pendragon agent who broke out of our dungeons. With
Nia’s help, of course. So lucky, having her watching over you.”
“This bejeweled psychopath is your rebound, Nia? Really?” Venom
drips from Raphael’s voice. “How unfortunate for you.”
“You told me about him, didn’t you, Nia?” Talan says quietly, his eyes
aglow with mockery. “The ex-lover who has a bad habit of running away
from things. The one who chose his work over you. I believe I said he
sounded fucking boring. And I must admit he has pretty eyes, but he is very
tightly wound. Must be exhausting.”
Raphael’s jaw tightens. “I’m not a Pendragon agent. I’m the boy your
army left for dead, the one whose mother your army killed in her kitchen
while she begged for our lives. That’s who I am.”
“I know.” My voice wavers. “But that wasn’t Talan’s order. He tried to
save the demi-Fey, you know that. Ask Ysolde about the Blue Dragon
Project later, if we make it out of here. We don’t have time for this
argument right now.”
He doesn’t lower his sword.
I take a step closer to him. “Listen, the Pendragons have created a
plague to annihilate all Fey and demi-Fey. I have it here in my bag, and I
want to destroy it. Talan is here to help us save the Fey. That includes
Reklam
Reklam