“if it is too hot in ergastulum turn the fanon …
Tomorrow will never come
at least not as expected
but, we could become it”
Jorie Graham, [To] The Last [Be] Human
James Joyce, Ulysses (this may be here a while)
Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, trans. V. E. Watts
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, trans. Margaret Jull Costa
To love is merely to grow tired of being alone: it is therefore both cowardly and a betrayal of ourselves.
Vicente Guedes (Fernando Pessoa), The Book of Disquiet, trans. Margaret Jull Costa