Hi /lit/ I'm after your personal favourite passages from

>>9610349
Art belongs to those who create it and those who savour it. [...] Art is the whisper of history, heard above the noise of time. Art does not exist for arts sake; it exists for people's sake.

-- Julian Barnes, The Noise of Time

"Most people do not really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened of responsibility." - Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents

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I'd let her sit on my face.

- me.

who is this betch?

>>9613507
a qt

>>9612450
>>9610349
Nasty untermensch

-I owe this serenity and sobriety to philosophy, and how far I owe it simply to my years, and to investigate with some care what things I really am refusing to do and what I'm simply incapable of doing - and it's [his soul/mind] prepared to accept whatever I'm really pleased to find myself incapable of doing as equivalent to refusing to do them- Sennyka the yung

Powerful words against those who say that a dream is unattainable when really it isn't.

She looks like she belongs in an Éric Rohmer movie.

>>9610349
What must it be, then, to bear the manifold tortures of hell forever? Forever! For all eternity! Not for a year or an age but forever. Try to imagine the awful meaning of this. You have often seen the sand on the seashore. How fine are its tiny grains! And how many of those tiny grains go to make up the small handful which a child grasps in its play. Now imagine a mountain of that sand, a million miles high, reaching from the earth to the farthest heavens, and a million miles broad, extending to remotest space, and a million miles in thickness, and imagine such an enormous mass of countless particles of sand multiplied as often as there are leaves in the forest, drops of water in the mighty ocean, feathers on birds, scales on fish, hairs on animals, atoms in the vast expanse of air. And imagine that at the end of every million years a little bird came to that mountain and carried away in its beak a tiny grain of that sand. How many millions upon millions of centuries would pass before that bird had carried away even a square foot of that mountain, how many eons upon eons of ages before it had carried away all. Yet at the end of that immense stretch time not even one instant of eternity could be said to have ended. At the end of all those billions and trillions of years eternity would have scarcely begun. And if that mountain rose again after it had been carried all away again grain by grain, and if it so rose and sank as many times as there are stars in the sky, atoms in the air, drops of water in the sea, leaves on the trees, feathers upon birds, scales upon fish, hairs upon animals – at the end of all those innumerable risings and sinkings of that immeasurably vast mountain not even one single instant of eternity could be said to have ended; even then, at the end of such a period, after that eon of time, the mere thought of which makes our very brain reel dizzily, eternity would have scarcely begun.

--Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce

Really inspired me to be a better Catholic.

>>9613647
See, if more literature was like this, and not the convoluted stylistic posturing so much of it is, I would actually read books once in a while.

tubier not a bee datisduh quest shyun
weh thuritus knowblair ih 'nthu mined; tosough, airthosling an'ayre O's o'outrage jussmiss fort chyun
Or 2 taekarmza gensta sea oh trubblez and bioposin gendhem
2 die 2 sleap
2 sleap per Chance 2dry 'm
Aetheirzthurub
4 inth at sleap uvdeth wat dreems May cum
whenwee ha 'vshuff old offthice more tollkoil
mustgivuspawz

>>9610349
Oh, but there is your face. I catch your eye. I, who had been thinking myself so vast, a temple, a church, a whole universe, unconfined and capable of being everywhere on the verge of things and here too, am now nothing but what you see—an elderly man, rather heavy, grey above the ears, who (I see myself in the glass) leans one elbow on the table, and holds in his left hand a glass of old brandy. That is the blow you have dealt me. I have walked bang into the pillar-box. I reel from side to side. I put my hands on my head. My hat is off—I have dropped my stick. I have made an awful ass of myself and am justly laughed at by any passer-by.

—Virginia Woolf, The Waves

At this time there rose up a babbler amongst us, and his idea was to have food without sweat.

—Tomás O'Crohan, The Islandman

Some context, this book is the memoir of a fisherman living in one of the most tradition places in Ireland (now abandoned). In this part of the book one of the young men went off the study in Dublin and came back spouting Marxist doctrine. I just love how he responded to this doctrine, it was great

>>9614386
nice colang

>>9613647
10/10.

>>9613647
I've heard this somewhere before outside of the book, maybe a TV show or movie. Guess I should read it.

>>9613647
>tfw there's so many reasons to be Christian
>tfw there's so many reasons not to be Christian

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MOOMMMMYYYYYY

>>9613536
but who is she?

>>9610349
I need this girls name

And in the night you realize, when you wake out of a dream, overcome and captivated by the enchantment of visions that crowd in on each other, just how fragile a handhold, how tenuous a boundary separates us from the darkness -- we are little flames, inadequately sheltered by thin walls from the tempest of dissolution and insensibility in which we flicker and are often all but extinguished. Then the muted roar of battle surrounds us, and we creep into ourselves and stare wide-eyed into the night. The only comfort we have comes from the breathing of our sleeping comrades, and so we wait until the morning comes.

from all quiet on the western front

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I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man's. I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.

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>>9610349
"And then there was Twisk, who usually appeared as an orange-haired maiden wearing a gown of gray gauze. One day while wading in the shallows of Tilhilvelly Pond, she was surprised by the troll Mangeon. He seized her about the waist, carried her to the bank, ripped away the gray gauze gown and prepared to make an erotic junction. At the sight of his priapic instrument, which was grotesquely large and covered with warts, Twisk became frantic with fear. By dint of jerks, twists and contortions she foiled the best efforts of the sweating Mangeon. But her strength waned and Mangeon's weight began to grow oppressive. She tried to protect herself with magic, but in her excitement she could remember only a spell used to relieve dropsy in farm animals, which, lacking better, she uttered, and it proved efficacious. Mangeon's massive organ shriveled to the size of a small acorn and became lost in the folds of his great gray belly.

Mangeon uttered a scream of dismay, but Twisk showed no remorse. Mangeon cried out in fury: "Vixen, you have done me a double mischief, and you shall do appropriate penance."

He took her to a road which skirted the forest. At a crossroads he fashioned a kind of pillory and affixed her to this construction. Over her head he posted a sign: DO WHAT YOU WILL WITH ME and stood back. "Here you stay until three passersby, be they dolts, lickpennies or great earls, have their way with you, and that is the spell I invoke upon you, so that in the future you may choose to be more accommodating to those who accost you beside Tilhilvelly Pond."

- Jack Vance, "Lyonesse"

"Where's Papa going with the ax?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.

Are you faggots ever going to tell us who the girl is?

>>9616474
this

>>9616474
Why would you want to know who that girl is? She looks like she just crawled out of a crack house where she spent the last four months reading Infinite Jest. She is not attractive at all.

>>9616676
not the guy you replied to, but i don't care what she looks like. i'm curious as to what she's talking about while making that stupid face.

The girl is The Book Prophet:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqIjYdTsN7_Mb3B7NJZ9vpA/videos

>>9613647
How so? I feel like the only way it could do so is by making hell and not worshiping God as scary as possible. Maybe I'm presuming some stuff here, but saying an extract like this makes you want to be a better Catholic is just admitting you're scared of hell enough to act in a way which Catholics deem good, rather than actually becoming a better person because you believe the Catholic life is a better life.

Again, correct me if I'm wrong but doesn't it seem extremely cruel to feel forced to act in a certain way or else you'll receive the scariest of punishments?

>>9616474
no
>bitch

>>9616736
It wasn't really just that excerpt alone. The excerpt is from a long sermon around the middle of the book. The entire thing is just sublimely horrifying. Being afraid of hell, and thus God, is also what Catholicism aims for. We recognize that God is loving and accepts our sincere repentance for all sins, while at the same time fearing him so that we can sincerely repent. Is being moved to sincerely question and repent your wrongdoings, however small, a bad thing at all? We are not forced to act in a certain way, but we are strongly moved to repent for not acting in a certain way. It may seem cruel, yes, but that is the price we pay for being tainted by sin.

>>9616693
thought she was going to be a bitch but she seems nice.

>>9616693
She seems autistic. How old is she?

>>9616693
Idiot.

>>9617002
Old enough to put you in the jail, you disgusting pedo.

>>9617069
The age of consent is 14 where I live. She looks 15 to me.

>>9616736
You're missing the point, its the very concept of hell itself that makes the thought of living without God so meaningless. That if our world is so wretched and empty that hell can even be contemplated it dissolves all our petty mortal considerations into a sad comedy and in that help one to at least understand what it is to be void of God

>>9614520

Is the Islandman worth reading? Was checking it out the other day

>>9617072
t. 3rd world country nigga

Part One: Peas

Orson Welles: "We know a remote farm in Lincolnshire, where Mrs. Buckley lives. Every July, peas grow there." Do you really mean that?

Director 1: Uh, yes, so in other words, I--I--I'd start half a second later.Welles: Don't you think you really want to say "July" over the snow? Isn't that the fun of it?

D 1: It's--if--if you can (laughs) if you can make it almost when that shot disappears, it'll make more--

Welles: I think it's so nice that--that you see a snow-covered field and say "every July peas grow there". "We know a remote farm in Lincolnshire, where Mrs. Buckley lives. Every July, peas grow there." We aren't even in the fields, you see? (pause) We're talking about them growing and she's picked them. (clears throat) What?

D 1: ...in July.

Welles: I don't understand you, then. When must--what must be over for "July"?

D 1: Uh, when we get out of that snowy field--

Welles: Well, I was out! We were onto a can of peas, a big dish of peas when I said "in July".

D 1: Oh, I'm sorry, Orson.

Welles: Yes, always. I'm always--past that!

D 1: You are?

Welles: Yes! Wh--that's about where I say "in July".

Director 2: Can you emphasize a bit "in"? "In July."

Welles: Why? That doesn't make any sense. Sorry. There's no known way of saying an English sentence in which you begin a sentence with "in" and emphasize it. Get me a jury and show me how you can say "in July" and I'll... go down on you. That's just idiotic, if you'll forgive me by saying so.

D 2: (indistinct chatter)

Welles: That's just stupid. "In July"? I'd love to know how you emphasize "in" in "in July"... Impossible! Meaningless!

D 1: I think all they were thinking about was that they didn't want to--

Welles: He isn't thinking.

D 1: Orson, can we just do one last time--

Welles: Yeah.

D 1: ...and it was my fault. I should--I said "in July". If you could leave "every July"--

Welles: You didn't say it. He said it.

D 1: ...I said "every July".

Welles: Your friend. "Every July"?

D 1: ...so after this shot...

Welles: No, you don't really mean "every July"?

D 1: ...it is, but it's...

Welles: But that's--that's bad copy. It's in July. Of course it's every July! There's too much directing around here.