Happy sixth birthday to Millie, the finest little bug I’ve ever known.
Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I’m gazing at a distant star.
It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
Maybe the star doesn’t even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.
Aurignacian Man, Panel of the Rhinos (c.30,000 BC), Chauvet Cave, Vallon-Pont-d’Arc, Ardèche, France
Charcoal drawing on rock, length c.200cm
There are seven things that will destroy us: wealth without work, pleasure without conscience, knowledge without character, religion without sacrifice, politics without principle, science without humanity, business without ethics.
Zombie apocalypse… Screw Walmart, take a library.
My completely awesome and brilliant younger brother.
No longer wander at hazard. Neither will you read your own memoirs, nor the acts of the ancient Romans and Hellenes, and the selections from books which you are reserving for your old age. Hasten then to the end which you have before you, and, throwing away idle hopes, come to your own aid, if you care at all for yourself, while it is in your power.
Book 3.14, Meditations - Marcus Aurelius (via staphysagria)
“If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone: the harm is to persist in one’s own self-deception and ignorance.”
"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?”
Every civilized human being, whatever his conscious development, is still an archaic man at the deeper levels of his psyche. Just as the human body connects us with the mammals and displays numerous relics of earlier evolutionary stages going back to even the reptilian age, so the human psyche is likewise a product of evolution which, when followed up to its origins, show countless archaic traits.
I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.