The woman's loyalty is big, especially when it's not required.
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Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.
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Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
in Quotes & Aphorisms (Books)
From nature he had too big soul to be an usual seducer. He desired something totally arbitrary, a greeting for example, and would accept no more at any price, because that was the most beautiful thing about the other person.
from the book "" by Søren Aabye Kierkegaard
Posted by: Sara Bisci
Whoever doesn't choose means that is subject to the choices of the others.
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Posted by: Ugo Perugini
in Quotes & Aphorisms (Life)
Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.
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Posted by: Davide Bianco
in Quotes & Aphorisms (Wisdom)
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.
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Posted by: Antonietta
The tyrant dies and his rule is over; the martyr dies and his rule begins.
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Posted by: Sara Bisci
You can't not choose.
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Posted by: Marguerite
How beautiful she is! Poor mirror, it must be tormenting-it is good that you don't know jealousy. Her head is perfectly oval; she tilts a little , thereby accentuating her forehead, which rises pure and proud without any delineation of the powers of understanding. Her dark hair rings her forehead softly and gently. Her countenance is like a fruit; every angle fully rounded; herskin transparent, like velevt to the touch-that I can feel with y eyes. Her eyes-yes, I have not even seen them; they are hidden by lids armed with sliken fringes that are bend like barbs, dangerous to anyone who whises to meet her glance. Her head is a Madonna head, purity and innocence its mark. She is bowed down like a Madonna, but she is not lost in contemplation of the One; this causes the expression in her face to vary. What she is contemplating is multiplicity, the multiplicity over which earthly pomp and glory cast a reflection. She takes off her glove to show to the mirror and me a right hand as white and shapely as that of an ancient statue, without any ornaments, not even a flat glod ring on the fourth finger-bravo! She raised her eyes-how changed everything is, and yet the same-the forehead a little less high, the face a little less high, the face a little less uniforlmy oval but more vital.
from the book "" by Søren Aabye Kierkegaard