But I still have to face the hours, don't I?
if i could string together all the thoughts in my head, i wonder how it would look like.
sometimes we all force ourselves into making choices that we don't really have to. i believe that it is that streak of masochist in us, wanting to experience the agony, the regret and the whole range of extreme emotions that come together with making a difficult decision.
but is it so difficult after all, if you knew from the start what the ending was going to be like? if you were aware, right from the beginning, that things were going to end up in a certain way?
and then we lie to ourselves along the way that one is better than the other, even though we know that it is not true. we play along with this charade, when we know that we are really cowards for choosing the easy way out.
in the end, i think, the ones who suffer the most are not the people you hurt along the way with your lies or empty words, but yourself, yourself and yourself.
why do we always choose the painful way when we know that the same result can be achieved with alot less pain? why do we lie to ourselves, telling ourselves that we are brave when we are really are really cowards underneath, afraid to face the truth?
***
Virgina Woolf, in The Hours:
If I were thinking clearly, Leonard, I would tell you that I wrestle alone in the dark, in the deep dark, and that only I can know. Only I can understand my condition. You live with the threat, you tell me you live with the threat of my extinction. Leonard, I live with it too.
My life has been stolen from me. I'm living in a town I have no wish to live in... I'm living a life I have no wish to live... How did this happen?
I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the Capital, that is my choice. The meanest patient, yes, even the very lowest is allowed some say in the matter of her own prescription. Thereby she defines her humanity. I wish, for your sake, Leonard, I could be happy in this quietness.
But if it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death.
You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard.
Dear Leonard. To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard, always the years between us, always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.
sometimes we all force ourselves into making choices that we don't really have to. i believe that it is that streak of masochist in us, wanting to experience the agony, the regret and the whole range of extreme emotions that come together with making a difficult decision.
but is it so difficult after all, if you knew from the start what the ending was going to be like? if you were aware, right from the beginning, that things were going to end up in a certain way?
and then we lie to ourselves along the way that one is better than the other, even though we know that it is not true. we play along with this charade, when we know that we are really cowards for choosing the easy way out.
in the end, i think, the ones who suffer the most are not the people you hurt along the way with your lies or empty words, but yourself, yourself and yourself.
why do we always choose the painful way when we know that the same result can be achieved with alot less pain? why do we lie to ourselves, telling ourselves that we are brave when we are really are really cowards underneath, afraid to face the truth?
***
Virgina Woolf, in The Hours:
If I were thinking clearly, Leonard, I would tell you that I wrestle alone in the dark, in the deep dark, and that only I can know. Only I can understand my condition. You live with the threat, you tell me you live with the threat of my extinction. Leonard, I live with it too.
My life has been stolen from me. I'm living in a town I have no wish to live in... I'm living a life I have no wish to live... How did this happen?
I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the Capital, that is my choice. The meanest patient, yes, even the very lowest is allowed some say in the matter of her own prescription. Thereby she defines her humanity. I wish, for your sake, Leonard, I could be happy in this quietness.
But if it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death.
You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard.
Dear Leonard. To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard, always the years between us, always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.