𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆

"I am alive, if I suffer." ~ Albert Camus //

Freedom is not a reward or a decoration that you toast in champagne. On the contrary, it's hard graft and a long-distance run, all alone, very exhausting. Alone in a dreary room, alone in the dock before the judges, and alone to make up your mind, before yourself and before the judgement of others. At the end of every freedom there is a sentence, which is why freedom is too heavy to bear. ~ Albert Camus, The Fall //

But do you know why we are always more just and generous toward the dead? The reason is simple. With them there is no obligation. They leave us free and we can take our time, fit the testimonial between a cocktail party and a nice little mistress, in our spare time, in short. ~ Albert Camus, The Fall //

Men are never convinced of your reasons, of your sincerity, of the seriousness of your sufferings, except by your death. So long as you are alive, your case is doubtful; you have a right only to their skepticism. ~ Albert Camus, The Fall //

But the heart has its own memory and I have forgotten nothing.

I like people who dream or talk to themselves interminably; I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere. ~ Albert Camus, The Fall //

Don't lies eventually lead to the truth? And don't all my stories, true or false, tend toward the same conclusion? Don't they all have the same meaning? So what does it matter whether they are true or false if, in both cases, they are significant of what I have been and what I am? Sometimes it is easier to see clearly into the liar than into the man who tells the truth. Truth, like light, blinds. Falsehood, on the contrary, is a beautiful twilight that enhances every object. ~ Albert Camus, The Fall

Ah cher ami, how poor in invention men are! They are They always think one commits suicide for a reason. But it's quite possible to commit suicide for two reasons. No, that never occurs to them. So what's the good of dying intentionally, of sacrificing yourself to the idea you want people to have of you? Once you are dead, they will take advantage of it to attribute idiotic or vulgar motives to your action. Martyrs, cher ami, must choose between being forgotten, mocked, or made use of. As for being understood...never! ~ Albert Camus, The Fall

Many people don't realize that some people expend tremendous energy, merely to exist in a world completely devoid of grace.

"Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, / bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. / Sometimes, the men – they come with keys, / and sometimes, the men - they come with hammers." ~ Warsan Shire, from "The House,"

𝖥𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾. 𝖫𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽’𝗌 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝗋𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 . . . 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 . . . 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺 𝗅𝗒𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾 . . . 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇, 𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍 . . . 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾. 𝖵𝗈𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗀𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝗂𝗍. 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨’𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽. 𝖠 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾. 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈. 𝖬𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖯𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖨 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗇𝗎𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗐𝗌, 𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾 . . . 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 . . . 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗒𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖨 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨’𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨’𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇!

𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖨 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖨 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾." "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐...𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒." "𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒....𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖨 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

𝖯𝗈𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾. 𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗉𝗈𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗁. ~ 𝖫𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗁𝖾𝗇 //

“The burning desire for the expression of love is just the admission that anxiety lies at the bottom . . . anxiety about the possibility of change.” ~ Kierkegaard //