youssef elfakir

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Spinoza: A Very S...
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The Mansions of P...
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Apr 10, 2021 09:49PM

 
Why Marx Was Right
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Søren Kierkegaard
“My depression is the most faithful mistress I have known — no wonder, then, that I return the love.”
Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life

Søren Kierkegaard
“Whatever can be the meaning of this life? If we divide mankind into two large classes, we can say that one works for a living, the other has no need to. But working for one’s living can’t be the meaning of life; to suppose that constantly procuring the conditions of life should be the answer to the question of the meaning of what they make possible is a contradiction. Usually the lives of the other class have no meaning either, beyond that of consuming the said conditions. To say that the meaning of life is to die seems again to be a contradiction.”
Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life

Mark Fisher
“We could go so far as to say that it is the human condition to be grotesque, since the human animal is the one that does not fit in, the freak of nature who has no place in the natural order and is capable of re-combining nature's products into hideous new forms.”
Mark Fisher, The Weird and the Eerie

Emmanuel Levinas
“…in crucial times, when the perishability of so many values is revealed, all human dignity consists in believing in their return.”
Emmanuel Levinas, Proper Names

Emil M. Cioran
“One can experience loneliness in two ways: by feeling lonely in the world or by feeling the loneliness of the world. Individual loneliness is a personal drama; one can feel lonely even in the midst of great natural beauty. An outcast in the world, indifferent to its being dazzling or dismal, self-consumed with triumphs and failures, engrossed in inner drama—such is the fate of the solitary. The feeling of cosmic loneliness, on the other hand, stems not so much from man's subjective agony as from an awareness of the world's isolation, of objective nothingness. It is as if all the splendors of this world were to vanish at once, leaving behind the dull monotony of a cemetery. Many are haunted by the vision of an abandoned world encased in glacial solitude, untouched by even the pale reflections of a crepuscular light. Who is more unhappy? He who feels his own loneliness or he who feels the loneliness of the world? Impossible to tell, and besides, why should I bother with a classification of loneliness? Is it not enough that one is alone?”
Emil M. Cioran, On the Heights of Despair

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