"There is no such thing as novelty; all is as trite as it is transitory.
Look back over the past, with its changing empires that rose and fell, and you can foresee the future too. Its pattern will be the same, down to the last detail; for it cannot break step with the steady march of creation. To view the lives of men for forty years or forty thousand is therefore all one; for what more will there be for you to see?" Marcus Aurelius
And one wonders at the worth of living. That little dark hole in the back of our mind which black-light is stronger than they very sun eats through the expressions of our face; expressions which consume more and more of our energy everyday to maintain them. That such echoes from antiquity still find hearing ears now, in our days, is proof enough that nothing much is different, that within us grows still, and cannot but grow, a gnawing darkness -- an after-echo in our happiest moments; as if something in our very core is missing; something which not even the gentle rhythm of the sea can make go away. And of the remedy? Poison, in small dosage, often becomes its own remedy, giving the body a natural immunity. This calls for radical methods of thought, for a plunging into darkness, into that very hole -- a task before which most shrink in fear and are trapped forever within the vicious circle.
"There is no such thing as novelty; all is as trite as it is transitory.
ReplyDeleteLook back over the past, with its changing empires that rose and fell, and you can foresee the future too. Its pattern will be the same, down to the last detail; for it cannot break step with the steady march of creation. To view the lives of men for forty years or forty thousand is therefore all one; for what more will there be for you to see?" Marcus Aurelius
And one wonders at the worth of living. That little dark hole in the back of our mind which black-light is stronger than they very sun eats through the expressions of our face; expressions which consume more and more of our energy everyday to maintain them. That such echoes from antiquity still find hearing ears now, in our days, is proof enough that nothing much is different, that within us grows still, and cannot but grow, a gnawing darkness -- an after-echo in our happiest moments; as if something in our very core is missing; something which not even the gentle rhythm of the sea can make go away. And of the remedy? Poison, in small dosage, often becomes its own remedy, giving the body a natural immunity. This calls for radical methods of thought, for a plunging into darkness, into that very hole -- a task before which most shrink in fear and are trapped forever within the vicious circle.
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