Nausea – Jean Paul Sartre

pg. 34

“To speak frankly, I would also like something unexpected to happen to me, something new, adventures.”

He has lowered his voice and his face has taken on a roguish look.

“What sort of adventures?” I ask him, astonished.

“All sorts, Monsieur. Getting on the wrong train. Stopping in an unknown city. Losing your briefcase, being arrested by mistake, spending the night in prison. Monsieur, I believed the word adventure could be defined: an event out of the ordinary without being necessarily extraordinary. People speak of the magic of adventures.”

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William Barrett

“For the thinker, as for the artist, what counts in life is not the number of rare and exciting adventures he encounters, but the inner depth in that life.”

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Notes from the Underground – Dostoevsky

“Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness”

Ch.9

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Madame De Stael

“to understand all is to forgive all”

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Thelma – Marie Corelli

Ch. XXII

“But, after all, trade is the great moving-spring of national prosperity,–and it would hardly be fair to refuse seats to the very men who help to keep the country going.”

“I do not see that,” said Thelma gravely,–“if those men are ignorant, why should they have a share in so important a thing as Government? They may know all about beer, and wool, and iron,–but perhaps they can only judge what is good for themselves, not what is best for the whole country, with all its rich and poor. I do think that only the wisest scholars and most intelligent persons should be allowed to help in the ruling of a great nation.”

“But the people choose their own rulers,” remarked Errington reflectively.

“Ah, the poor people!” sighed Thelma. They know so very little,–and they are taught so badly! I think they never do quite understand what they do want,–they are the same in all histories,–like little children, they get bewildered and frightened in any trouble, and the wisest heads are needed to think for them. It is, indeed, most cruel to make them puzzle out all difficulty for themselves!”

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Thelma – Marie Corelli

Ch. 1:

**

It was, for him, one of those sudden halts in life which we all experience,–an instant,–when time and the world seem to stand still, as though to permit us easy breathing; a brief space,–in which we are allowed to stop and wonder awhile at the strange unaccountable force within us, that enables us to stand with such calm, smiling audacity, on our small pin’s point of the present, between the wide dark gaps of past and future; a small hush,–in which the gigantic engines of the universe appear to revolve no more, and the immortal Soul of man itself is subjected and over-ruled by supreme and eternal Thought.

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The Lake Isle of Innisfree – William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

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