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/lit/ - Literature

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18651258 No.18651258 [Reply] [Original]

Tell me a secret about this phenomena we refer to as Love

>> No.18651283

>>18651258
I used to make love to an unwilling little boy

>> No.18651292

>>18651283
it was myself

>> No.18651321

It can be learned by anyone

>> No.18651644
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18651644

>>18651258
It can be bitter as well as sweet, my friend

>> No.18651658

It can break a man and make a man, not necessarily without the other

>> No.18651674

>>18651258
“We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It’s our own concept - our own selves - that we love.

This is true in the whole gamut of love. In sexual love we seek our own pleasure via another body. In non-sexual love, we seek out own pleasure via our own idea. The masturbator may be abject, but in point of fact he’s the perfect logical expression of the lover. He’s the only one who doesn’t feign and doesn’t fool himself.

The relations between one soul and another, expressed through such uncertain and variable things as shared words and proffered gestures, are deceptively complex. The very act of meeting each other is a non-meeting. Two people say ‘I love you’ or mutually think it and feel it, and each has in mind a different idea, a different life, perhaps even a different colour or fragrance, in the abstract sum of impressions that constitute the soul’s activity.

Today I’m lucid as if I didn’t exist. My thinking is as naked as a skeleton, without the fleshy tatters of the illusion of expression. And these considerations that I forge and abandon weren’t born from anything - at east not from anything in the front rows of my consciousness. Perhaps it was the sales representative’s disillusion with his girlfriend, perhaps a sentence I read in one of the romantic tales that our newspapers reprint from the foreign press, or perhaps just a vague nausea for which I can think of no physical cause…

The scholiast who annotated Virgil was wrong. Understanding is what wearies us most of all. To live is to not think.”

-Fernando Pessoa

>> No.18651980

>>18651674
Do you have any idea what commentary, presumably, on Virgil that Pessoa's referencing?

>> No.18651995
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18651995

>>18651258
Love? Love is a verb--a doing word.

>> No.18652140

>>18651258
it is phenomenon, not phenomena, which is the plural form.

>> No.18652189
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18652189

I've pondered this question many a night as I dallied most mincingly in the Eucalyptus and chow mein-scented gardens of Australia's parks... a leather bound volume tucked under my arms as a talisman to the muses. In these hallowed places sleep great thoughts, until I crack the antiquated volume and it sings anew! This visitation by the spirit of the *liber*--as the marble-assed, ripe redmouthed Romans poets called books--tickled my ear whispering the secrets of love:

God is a poet; Love is his verse.

L'Acadmie. Soon.

>> No.18652191

I know nothing of love