We are afraid of the enormity of the possible.

A book has to dig through the wounds, more, it has cause a new one, a book it has to be dangerous.

By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.

To live in any true sense of the word is to reject others; to accept them, one must be able to renounce, to do oneself violence, to act against one's own nature, to weaken oneself; we conceive freedom only for ourselves - we extend it to our neighbours only at the cost of exhausting efforts; whence the precariousness of liberalism, a defiance of our instincts, a brief and miraculous success, a state of exception, at the antipodes of our deepest imperatives.

Ideas come as you walk, Nietzsche said. Walking dissipates thoughts, Shankara taught.

Better to be an animal than a man, an insect than an animal, a plant than an insect, and so on. Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy.

To act is to anchor in an imminent future, so imminent it becomes almost tangible; to act is to feel you are consubstantial with that future.