Thursday, 6 June 2013


Part of thinking is its cruelty, 
aside from its contents.

 It is the process itself that is cruel,
 the process of detachment from everything else,
 the ripping, the wrenching, the sharpness of cutting

They says nothing, 
but how they explain it

Thoughts like detritus. Thoughts like lava. Thoughts like rain.

One never takes raging people seriously enough.
 It is only when thousands copy their raging that one respectfully perks up one's ears;
 but it is precisely at this point that one should maintain an icy coldness.

I am. I am not. Humankind's new counting game.
Elias Canetti...1967

Saturday, 25 May 2013

The Yearning........

God must be yearning for the world before he created it.

To feel death constantly without sharing one of the comforting religions. 
What a gamble, what a dreadful gamble!

I hate fast systems, and i will see to it that mine never fully closes.

The astonishing thing about distrust is the distrust of the completed event, of the fact.

You can't keep living in a beautiful city: it drives out all your yearning.
Elias Canetti 1947

Monday, 29 April 2013

A thought......

A new thought wants to look about from time to time among the old of its kind; 
otherwise it will die of thirst.

It is strange that one comes closer to the truth only in the words that one no longer fully believes in.
 Truth is a reanimation of dying words.

stories in water, the possibilities of fluidity. 

Sunday, 21 April 2013


An invented youth that comes true in old age.

To bring back the profound emotion from names.

Wretched the man who knows. 
How wretched God must be, all knowing.

Structures everywhere, the anti-dream to destruction.
Elias Canetti 1967

Friday, 19 April 2013

Learning ........

Learning has to be an adventure, 
otherwise it's still born.
 What we learn at a given moment ought to depend on chance meetings,
 and it ought to continue in that way, 
from encounter to encounter,
 a learning in transformations,
 a learning in fun.

Writers encounter their characters only after they've created them.

Elias Canetti

Sunday, 24 March 2013

Morning instants....

Those lovely morning instants 
when all personal things seem trivial and insignificant;
when one feels within oneself the pride of laws one is seeking.

A distaste for closing things together;

you always keep everything open, you always keep everything apart.

You really only want to learn and directly record what you have grasped.

From day to day, you grasp more, but you are reluctant to sum up;

as though it could ultimately 
be possible to express everything 
in a few sentences on some single day, 
but then definitively.

An undevourable wish that this day will not come 
until the end of your life, 
as late as possible.
Elias Canetti 
The human Province 1957

Friday, 22 February 2013


There is nothing concrete and different that does not strike me as meaningful; 
as though everything in existence were concealed in oneself, 
and one could make it visible to oneself 
only through things that are different.

One could imagine that the lost hours slip into later ones 
and suddenly peep out of them. 
Would they thus not be lost?

The self confidence of people who show themselves from all sides.                                                          Elias Canetti 1957

Thursday, 7 February 2013

The possibilities.....

The sun drives them to everything that looks ugly. 
The hope that it could look different in the sun

Music, the measure of man's capacity.

The beyond is within us; a grave realization, but it is trapped inside us.