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35be297
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I have crossed the seas, I have left cities behind me, and I have followed the source of rivers towards their source or plunged into forests, always making for other cities. I have had women, I have fought with men ; and I could never turn back any more than a record can spin in reverse. And all that was leading me where ? To this very moment...
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existentialist
nausea
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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68cd917
|
Nothing happens while you live. The scenery changes, people come in and go out, that's all. There are no beginnings. Days are tacked on to days without rhyme or reason, an interminable, monotonous addition.
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inspirational
nausea
monotony
sartre
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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c371f90
|
It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it: I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not mine. I cannot even decide whether it is handsome or ugly. I think it is ugly because I have been told so. But it doesn't strike me. At heart, I am even shocked that anyone can attribute qualities of this kind to it, as if you called a clod of earth or a block of stone beautiful or ugly.
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nausea
jean-paul
sartre
reflection
ugly
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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a5d48c8
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For seven days she lay in bed looking sullenly at the ceiling as though resenting the death she had cultivated for so many years. Like some people who cannot vomit despite horrible nausea, she lay there unable to die, resisting death as she had resisted life, frozen with resentment of process and change.
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nausea
resentment
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William S. Burroughs |
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da8fcac
|
Something has happened to me, I can't doubt it any more. It came as an illness does, not like an ordinary certainty, not like anything evident. It came cunningly, little by little; I felt a little strange, a little put out, that's all. Once established it never moved, it stayed quiet, and I was able to persuade myself that nothing was the matter with me, that it was a false alarm. And now, it's blossoming.
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nausea
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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ae62337
|
My passion was dead. For years it had rolled over and submerged me; now I felt empty. But that wasn't the worst: before me, posed with a sort of indolence, was a voluminous, insipid idea. I did not see clearly what it was, but it sickened me so much I couldn't look at it.
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passion
nausea
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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4892e54
|
Then I wanted to sick up the gluey pie I'd had before the start of the evening, But I couldn't stand the sort of veshch, sicking all over the floor, so I held it back.
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nausea
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Anthony Burgess |
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abc5866
|
I don't even bother looking for words. It flows in me, more or less quickly. I fix nothing, I let it go. Through the lack of attaching myself to words, my thoughts remain nebulous most of the time. They sketch vague, pleasant shapes and then are swallowed up: I forget them almost immediately.
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nausea
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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b4b0f2a
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Je suis seul au milieu de ces voix joyeuses et raisonnables. Tous ces types passent leur temps a s'expliquer, a reconnaitre avec bonheur qu'ils sont du meme avis. Quelle importance ils attachent, mon Dieu, a penser tous ensemble les memes choses.
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choses
dieu
ensemble
nausee
opinione
penser
seul
solo
voix
voce
nausea
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
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8574689
|
You exaggerate everything. You continually force the truth because you're always looking for something.
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truth
nausea
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
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634755f
|
Now i did think, The smoke will drive the bugs away. And, to some degree,it did. I'd be lying, though, if I claimed I became a smoker to ward off insects.I became a smoker because 1. I was on an Adirondack swing by myself, and 2. I had cigarettes, and 3.I figured that if everyone else could smoke a cigarette without coughing, I could damn well, too.In short, I didn't have a very good reason. So yeah, let's just say that 4.it was the bugs. I made it through three drags before I felt nauseuos and dizzy and only semipleasantly buzzed. I got up to leave As I stood, a voice behind me.
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smoker
smoke
nausea
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John Green |
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8d6a2e5
|
The Nausea has stayed down there, in the yellow light. I am happy: this cold is so pure, this night so pure: am I myself not a wave of icy air? With neither blood, nor lymph, nor flesh. Flowing down this long canal towards the pallor down there. To be nothing but coldness.
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nausea
jean-paul
sartre
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
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037fcdf
|
Perhaps it was a passing moment of madness after all. There is no trace of it any more. My odd feelings of the other week seem to me quite ridiculous today: I can no longer enter into them.
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madness
nausea
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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16209b3
|
He takes a few dazed steps, the waiters turn out the lights and he slips into unconsciousness: when this man is lonely he sleeps.
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nausea
lonely
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Jean-Paul Sartre |
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0894b6b
|
My existence began to worry me seriously. Was I not a simple spectre?
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philosophy
nausea
jean-paul-sartre
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
|
945921e
|
Perhaps it is impossible to understand one's own face ... People who live in society have learned how to see themselves in mirrors as they appear to their friends. I have no friends. Is that why my flesh is so naked? You might say -- yes you might say, nature without humanity.
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nausea
jean-paul
sartre
mirror
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
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118fbc3
|
I lean all my weight on the porcelain ledge, I draw my face closer until it touches the mirror. The eyes, nose, and mouth disappear. Nothing is left. Brown wrinkles show on each side of the feverish swelled lips, crevices, mole holes. A silky, white down covers the great slopes of the cheeks, two hairs protrude from the nostrils: it is a geological embossed map. And, in spite of everything, this lunar world is familiar to me. I cannot say I recognize the details. But the whole thing gives me an impression of something seen before which stupefies me: I slip quietly off to sleep.
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map
nausea
jean-paul
sartre
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
|
4b83c73
|
Perhaps it is impossible to understand one's own face. Or perhaps it is because I am a single man? People who live in society have learned how to see themselves in mirrors as they appear to their friends. I have no friends. Is that why my flesh is so naked?
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nausea
single
sartre
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
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65030e8
|
Aunque me quisiera con toda su alma, seria igualmente un amor de muerta.
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decepcion
desapego
pena
nausea
mujeres
tristeza
muerte
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |
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167bacf
|
It is an abstract change without object. Am I the one who has changed? (...) I must finally realize that I am subject to these sudden transformations. The thing is that I rarely think; a crowd of small metamorphoses accumulate in me without my noticing it, and then, one fine day, a veritable revolution takes place. This is what has given my life such a jerky, incoherent aspect.
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nausea
|
Jean-Paul Sartre |