Blahblahblahs

Add friend
Sign in to Goodreads to learn more about Blahblahblahs.

https://www.goodreads.com/blahblahblahs

Loading...
Fyodor Dostoevsky
“I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man. I am an unpleasant man. I think my liver is diseased. However, I don't know beans about my disease, and I am not sure what is bothering me. I don't treat it and never have, though I respect medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, let's say sufficiently so to respect medicine. (I am educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am.) No, I refuse to treat it out of spite. You probably will not understand that. Well, but I understand it. Of course I can't explain to you just whom I am annoying in this case by my spite. I am perfectly well aware that I cannot "get even" with the doctors by not consulting them. I know better than anyone that I thereby injure only myself and no one else. But still, if I don't treat it, its is out of spite. My liver is bad, well then-- let it get even worse!”
Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead

“In modern industrial society only minimal effort is necessary to satisfy one’s physical needs. It is enough to go through a training program to acquire some petty technical skill, then come to work on time and exert the very modest effort needed to hold a job. The only requirements are a moderate amount of intelligence and, most of all, simple OBEDIENCE.”
Theodore J. Kaczynski, Industrial Society and Its Future

Franz Kafka
“Logic may indeed be unshakeable, but it cannot withstand a man who is determined to live.”
Franz Kafka, The Trial

Friedrich Nietzsche
“You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”
Friedrich Nietzsche

Leo Tolstoy
“Morning or night, Friday or Sunday, made no difference, everything was the same: the gnawing, excruciating, incessant pain; that awareness of life irrevocably passing but not yet gone; that dreadful, loathsome death, the only reality, relentlessly closing in on him; and that same endless lie. What did days, weeks, or hours matter?”
Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilych

year in books
sophie ...
2,739 books | 79 friends

Alexander
1,163 books | 29 friends

katherine!
384 books | 19 friends

Luca
248 books | 4 friends

William...
110 books | 6 friends

sophie ☾
583 books | 741 friends

Walkie ...
142 books | 2 friends





Polls voted on by Blahblahblahs

Lists liked by Blahblahblahs