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Gifted her a book,,!
Her
Beauty,her fantastic demonical beauty.
Eyes,her black bewtiched piercing eyes.
Smile,her mesmerizing,taunting smile.
Cheeks,her sparkled freckled cheeks aglow.
Hair,her hair tangled dusk,chaos in motion.
Hands,her hands feels like Apricity.
Voice,even delusion feels reality in her tone.
Existence,her existence,a myth i dare to believe.
Either there is something or there is nothing.And there is nothing in between something and nothing.
What a beautifu night!Such a night is only possible when we are young.
If I were a dreamer,you would be my Nastenka.
If I were Meursault,you would be my Marie.
If I were Raskolnikov,you would be my Sonya.
If I were Santiago,you would be my Fatima.
If I were the narrator,you would be my Liza.
If I were Carter,you would be my Jamie.
If I were Petersburg,you would be my White Night.
If I were a crime,you would be my punishment.
If I were Dostoyevsky,you would be my suffering.
If I were Kafka,you would be my hope.
If I were Camus,you would be my meaning.
If I were me....you would be my nothing.....
She should be a book reader(not necessarly),she should be intellectual,Perhaps she should naive,This is bare minimum.
I think hope does not exist in reality.We have intermingle the concept hope with our subconscious potentional.We hope for the things,our subconscious believes that it will happen and give you positive result.May be i have just intermingle the hope with belief.Somehow our belief is our hope.When we have strong belief in something that we think will happen,at that point your hope is your belief and everything will feels you that you are actually going to get you wanted or you hoped for that.
Well,human are creepy creatures.They will choose a life full of suffering but with freedom,freedom of everything rather than a life full of joy,where there is everything,no desires a rational life.A life where there are choices.One must choose irrational life or things than rational because in rational system there are choices and choice snatch your freedom.Where there are choices there is no freedom.
[1/25, 12:33 PM] Ralston: What is consciousness?
As I think consciousness should be intermingle with scepticism?Now you will surely ask why?
The answer is consciousness make you aware of things and scepticism make you to believe in things or to not believe in things(Things here could be someone's ideas,thoughts or any thing else that is thinkable).The scepticism and the consciousness are both linked with eachother.The one cannot exist without other.In this phenomena a man criticise one thing heavily and at the same time he likes it.Why why it is like this?
The answer is that he has doubts about it showing he is sceptic and having doubts shows consciousness.
So when you doubts about things you will feel mental agony.
Anyone who feels regret after committing a sin is not a sinner no matter how many sins he had committed or he will commit regardles the intensity of sin.Regret, perhaps is noble human insight that makes you feel that perhs you are still a human.You become a sinner a real actual sinner when there is no remorse,no regret in you after committing sin.You can call it rebelion against nature.
To be too conscious is a huge curse.It destroys the little joy of unconsciousness.
7.30 in a refurbished bus.Surrounded by people,people of all sorts students,traders,workers everyone seems in their own haste some are tired and sleeping because of their night shifts,some are just preparing themselves for the huge day ahead of them.Some are worried about their future while others are regretting for their past.Their are certain students around who had been indulged in futile activities whole semester and now they are burning midnight oil in this refurbished bus they seems like as they are the real intellectuals,philosophers lost in their own thoughts so called syllabus.And I am ? What i am doing is nothing except listing a song which cause a dopamine rush in my mind whenever i feel low or...
I exist....
Stop and consider! life is but a day;
A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way
Keats.
Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man who once crossed the surrey park at dusk, in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.
Atonement.
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