A ridiculous fear pursued me, in fact: one could not die without having confessed all one’s lies. Not to God or to one of his representatives; I was above that, as you well imagine. No, it was a matter of confessing to men, to a friend, to a beloved woman, for example. Otherwise, were there but one lie hidden in life, death made it definitive. No one, ever again, would know the truth at this point, since the only one to know it was precisely the dead man sleeping on his secret. The absolute murder of truth used to make me dizzy.
Albert Camus, The Fall (via intenseutopia)
(Source: sunrec, via a-prayers-wet-lips)
How do I stop being afraid? ‘Know that there is no safety anywhere. There never was and there never will be. Stop looking for it. Live with a fierce intent to waste nothing of yourself or life.’ There was one final message. ‘Turn fear around. Its other face is excitement.
Ann Shulgin ‘PiHKAL’ (via alteringminds)
(Source: strange-attraktor, via a-prayers-wet-lips)
The supreme pleasure we can know, Freud said, and the model for all pleasure, orgasmic pleasure, comes when an excess tension built up, confined, compacted is abruptly released; the pleasure consists in a passage into the contentment and quiescence of death. Is not orgasm instead the passage into the uncontainment and unrest of liquidity and vapour – pleasure in exudations, secretions, exhalations?
Alphonso Lingis, Excesses: Eros and Culture (via frenchtwist)
Lust surges through a body in transubstantiation.