[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
I’ve met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, “Why?”
Why did I cause so much pain?
Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?
Can’t I see how we’re all manifestations of love?
I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God’s got this all wrong.
We are not special.
We are not crap or trash, either.
We just are.
We just are, and what happens just happens.
And God says, “No, that’s not right.”
Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can’t teach God anything.
But everybody knows life isn’t worth living. Deep down I knew perfectly well that it doesn’t much matter whether you die at thirty or at seventy, since in either case other men and women will naturally go on living—-and for thousands of years. In fact, nothing could be clearer. Whether it was now or twenty years from now, I would still be the one dying.
“
| — | The Stranger by Albert Camus (via thechocolatebrigade) |
The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.
“
| — | Albert Camus (via krsmrie) |
