A working collage of other people's ideas
"But what after all is one night? A short space, especially when the darkness dims so soon, and so soon a bird sings, a cock crows, or a faint green quickens, like a turning leaf, in the hollow of the wave. Night, however, succeeds to night. The winter holds a pack of them in store and deals them equally, evenly, with indefatigable fingers, They lengthen; they darken. Some of them hold aloft clear planets, plates of brightness. The autumn trees, ravaged as they are, take on the flash of tattered flags kindling in the gloom of cool cathedral caves where gold letters on marble pages describe death in battle and how bones bleach and burn far away in Indian sands. The autumn trees gleam in the yellow moonlight, in the light of harvest moons, the light which mellows the energy of labour, and smooths the stubble, and brings the waves lapping blue to the shore" (Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse)
"What are your plans for the future?"
"You mean like career? Uh, I don't know. I've, I've thought about this quite a bit sir, and I'd have to say considering what's waiting out there for me, I don't want to sell anything, buy anything or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or... process anything sold, bought or processed, or repair anything sold, bought or processed, you know, as a career I don't want to do that." (lloyd dobler)
"The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and i must embark. For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould. Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I? A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. Alone must it seek the ether. And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun." (kahlil gibran)
"What if man is not really a scoundrel, man in general, I mean, the whole race of mankind- then all the rest is prejudice, simply artificial terrors and there are no barriers and it's all as it should be." (Dostoyevsky)
"Dust had returned to dust. The worm had food no more. The sense of being had at length utterly departed, and there reigned in its stead-in-stead of all things-dominant and perpetual-the autocrats Place and Time. Fot that which was not-for that which had no form-for that which had no thought-for that which had no sentience-for that which was soulless, yet of which matter no formed no portion-for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality, the grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours, co-mates." (Poe)