“I have just received your letters from Monday and Tuesday. Yes; my darling, this patience is exhausting, and I imagine and understand so well your jolts, your suffocations, and the immense silence that hovers around you and in your efforts towards a being whom you love and cherish. Thank you, my darling - thank you for giving me so generously your heart and this part of life that would be forbidden to me if our love were not absolute. You may. Jela understands and I also love her in a slightly shaky way and with all my delicacy. Patience. Courage. Soon there will be no more snow on the roses and the sun will soften this continual struggle. As for the rest, I don’t know. No matter how much I turn and turn the problem, I can’t see anything. But, for the moment, don’t dwell on it. Forget everything, let yourself go. Forget about me as much as you can. Be as happy as you can. Work and do whatever you feel you can do. I’ll always be close to you. See you tonight, my dear love.”—
Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, January 25, 1950 [#145]
(via acknowledgetheabsurd)
(via jvtng)
The night gardener once asked me if I knew how citrus trees died: when they reach old age, if they are not cut down and they manage to survive drought, disease and innumerable attacks of pests, fungi and plagues, they succumb from overabundance. When they come to the end of their life cycle, they put out a final, massive crop of lemons. In their last spring their flowers bud and blossom in enormous bunches and fill the air with a smell so sweet that it stings your nostrils from two blocks away; then their fruits ripen all at once, whole limbs break off due to their excessive weight, and after a few weeks the ground is covered with rotting lemons. It is a strange sight, he said, to see such exuberance before death.
When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamín Labatut
(via podencos)
The world is not a collection of things, it is a collection of events. A stone is prototypical ‘thing’: we can ask ourselves where it will be tomorrow. Conversely, a kiss is an 'event’. It makes no sense to ask where the kiss will be tomorrow. The world is made up of networks of kisses, not of stones. On closer inspection, in fact, even the things that are most 'thing-like’ are nothing more than long events.
Carlo Rovelli
(via jvtng)
