Philosophy becomes tortured thinking. Thinking that devours itself—and continues intact and even flourishes, in spite (or perhaps because) of the repeated acts of self-cannibalism. In the passion play of thought, the thinker plays the roles of both protagonist and antagonist. He is both suffering Prometheus and the remorseless eagle who consumes his perpetually regenerated entrails.
written by Susan Sontag, from “Thinking Against Oneself: Reflections on Cioran” (via sambwmn)
(Source: heteroglossia, via fuckyeahexistentialism)
i would just like to state for the record that i am constantly awed by, and grateful for the variety of amazing, supportive, accepting, kind, and endlessly fascinating individuals whom i am lucky enough to be able to call my friends 8’)
…yes hello i am drunk and happy friendgay feeling ACCEPT MY AFFECTIONS!!!! >8U
He knew why he wanted to kiss her. Because she was beautiful. And before that, because she was kind. And before that, because she was smart and funny. Because she was exactly the right kind of smart and funny. Because he could imagine taking a long trip with her without ever getting bored. Because whenever he saw something new and interesting, or new and ridiculous, he always wondered what she’d have to say about it—how many stars she’d give it and why.
written by Rainbow Rowell, Attachments (via seabois)