Det finnes ingen ublodige eventyr. Ethvert eventyr er skapt ut fra en avgrunn av blod og angst. Franz Kafka
Les mer»Life was rocking back and forth on a crest like a seesaw. On one side one could see sunny valleys of normality and great numbers of delightful little nooks to curl up in; on the other, there loomed the murky gorges and chasms of madness, smoking with thick gases and glowing with molten lava–a valle […]
Les mer»Det finnes et mål, men ingen vei; det vi kaller vei, er nøling. Franz Kafka
Les mer»If there is right in the Soul, there will be beauty in the person. If there is beauty in the person, there will be harmony in the home. If there is harmony in the home, there will be order in the nation. If there is order in the nation, there will be peace in the […]
Les mer»Du er den du er, seier havet Kven er eg? Ein symjar på brådjupe vatn ein siglar ovanom skyer søkk eg i kvinnehender flyt eg på eigne ord styrer eg skipet i blinde høyrer eg døden rope er eg ein tapar som ikkje har mot til å vinne anna enn strid med menn mens livet […]
Les mer»Injustice, poverty, slavery, ignorance – these may be cured by reform or revolution. But men do not live only by fighting evils. They live by positive goals, individual and collective, a vast variety of them, seldom predictable, at times incompatible. Isaiah Berlin
Les mer»Only barbarians are not curious about where they come from, how they came to be where they are, where they appear to be going, whether they wish to go there, and if so, why, and if not, why not. Isaiah Berlin
Les mer»The fundamental sense of freedom is freedom from chains, from imprisonment, from enslavement by others. The rest is extension of this sense, or else metaphor. Isaiah Berlin
Les mer»Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs. Isaiah Berlin
Les mer»Zur Tränke gingen wir, Herr. Es war Blut, es war, was du vergossen, Herr. Es glänzte. Es warf uns dein Bild in die Augen, Herr. Augen und Mund stehn so offen und leer, Herr. Wir haben getrunken, Herr. Das Blut und das Bild, das im Blut war, Herr. Bete, Herr. Wir sind nah. Paul Celan […]
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