#pass

There is scarcely any passion without struggle. ↗

— Albert Camus

#passion #struggle #passion

To love in the sense of passion-love is the contrary of to live. It is an impoverishment of one's being, an askesis without sequel, an inability to enjoy the present without imagining it as absent, a never-ending flight from possession. ↗

— Denis de Rougemont

#love #never-ending #passion #possession #present

Compassion is born from the imagination. To have the desire to be compassionate, you have to imagine a world that’s better than the one you live in. ↗

— Ryan Henry Ward Artist

#imagination

There is no small act of kindness. Every compassionate act makes large the world. ↗

— Mary Anne Radmacher

#empathy #kindness #empathy

It was suggested that I take a recording test. I passed, was liked and, well, you know the rest of the story. ↗

— Johnny Kidd

#know #liked #passed #recording #rest

The engaged mind, illuminated by truth, awakens awareness; the engaged heart, affected by love, awakens passion. May I say once more - this essential energy of the soul is not an ecstatic trance, high emotion or a sanguine stance toward life: It is a fierce longing for God, an unyielding resolve to live in and out of our belovedness. - pg. 152 ↗

— Brennan Manning

#life #passion #life

Men love war because it allows them to look serious. Because they imagine it is the only thing that stops women laughing at them. In it they can reduce women to the status of objects. That is the great distinction between the sexes. Men see objects, women see relationships between objects. Whether the objects need each other, love each other, match each other. It is an extra dimension of feeling we men are without and one that makes war abhorrent to all real women - and absurd. I will tell you what war is. War is a psychosis caused by an inability to see relationships. ↗

— John Fowles

#gender-identity #men #war #women #imagination

Sympathy is the child of imagination ↗

— Clarence Darrow

#imagination #vision #imagination

Your perception is riveting, Amal," he says in a bored and sarcastic tone, dropping the note down on my desk. "It's comforting to know that there are people in my class who have the maturity and intelligence to make derogatory comments about other people's external appearances." Now what am I supposed to say to that? "What do you have to say for yourself?" Friggin' mind reader. ↗

— Randa Abdel-Fattah

#mind-reader #note-passing #teacher #funny

It was then that my gaze happened to fall on the bookcase, on the gap there, where the old paperback of "Nine Stories" had fallen flat. "Where's the thing?" I said. "What thing?" "The mesh. My mesh." She shrugged. "I tossed it." "Tossed it? Where? What do you mean?" In the next moment I was in the kitchen, flipping open the lid of the trash can, only to find it empty. "You mean outside?" I shouted. "In the dumpster?" When I came thundering back into the room, she still hadn't moved. "Jesus, what were you thinking? That was mine. I wanted that. I wanted to keep it." Her lips barely moved. "It was dirty. ↗

— T.C. Boyle

#dysfunctional-relationships #passive-aggression #shaming #home