I suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye.
—Pi, Life of Pi (via lazyyogi)
It now lately sometimes seemed like a kind of black miracle to me that people could actually care deeply about a subject or pursuit, and could go on caring this way for years on end. Could dedicate their entire lives to it. It seemed admirable and at the same time pathetic. We are all dying to give our lives away to something.
Aesthetics are a consequence of fitness.
I particularly dislike pre-ordained happy occasions. I don’t mind Christmas so much because everyone’s involved, as long as they’re Christians or lazy atheists, or Muslim but into tinsel.But I’ve never had a good new year’s eve, and I don’t like birthdays or any other time when you’re meant to be happy. I’m against the prescription of, say, ‘Ooh it’s Christmas o’clock. Smile everyone!’ For me happiness occurs arbitrarily. A moment of eye contact on a bus, where all at once you fall in love; or a frozen second in a park where it’s enough that there are trees in the world. I don’t like New years eve. I don’t think bliss could ever be preceded by a countdown and the chiming of a pompous clock.