I truly cannot remember the last time I properly wrote on here. Everything I do write ends up being deleted after 30 seconds anyway, it all seems a little futile. I can’t particularly disentangle my thoughts enough to write much. I can’t even disentangle them for long enough to work towards that which is actually necessary: doing well on my degree. I currently feel like a little intellectual egg, whose contents have been drained, leaving nothing but the shell slightly cracked and broken. Yep, I’m an egg.
“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,/Enwrought with golden and silver light,/The blue and the dim and the dark cloths/Of night and light and the half-light,/I would spread the cloths under your feet./But I, being poor, have only my dreams;/I have spread my dreams under your feet;/Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.”—
“Don’t squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar. These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing…. A new Hedonism—that is what our century wants.”—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”—