„No, liberty is not made for us: we are too ignorant, too vain, too presumptuous, too cowardly, too vile, too corrupt, too attached to rest and to pleasure, too much slaves to fortune to ever know the true price of liberty. We boast of being free! To show how much we have become slaves, it is enough just to cast a glance on the capital and examine the morals of its inhabitants.“

—  Жан-Поль Марат, L'Ami du peuple, no.559 (1791-08-27)
Жан-Поль Марат фото
Жан-Поль Марат
политический деятель эпохи Великой французской революции, в… 1743 - 1793

Похожие цитаты

Ralph Ellison фото
Milan Kundera фото
Christopher Paolini фото
Peter Greenaway фото

„Words reproduce themselves pleasurably too.“

—  Peter Greenaway British film director 1942
From the ninth book, "The Book of Secrets"

Joni Mitchell фото
Letitia Elizabeth Landon фото
Frederik Pohl фото

„There is a Carot's law to pain. It is measured not by absolutes, but the difference between source and ambience, and my ambience had been too safe and too pleasurable for too long to equip me for this.“

—  Frederik Pohl American science fiction writer and editor 1919 - 2013
Context: When my mother died and left me it hurt, but I was poor and confused and used to hurting. When the love of my life, or at any rate the woman who seemed to come to be the love of my life after she was safely gone, also left me — without quite dying, because she was stuck in some awful astrophysical anomaly and far out of reach forever — that also hurt. But I was hurting all over anyway then. I wasn't used to happiness, hadn't formed the habit of it. There is a Carot's law to pain. It is measured not by absolutes, but the difference between source and ambience, and my ambience had been too safe and too pleasurable for too long to equip me for this. I was in shock. Beyond the Blue Event Horizon (1980)

William Wordsworth фото
Robert Jenkinson, 2nd Earl of Liverpool фото
Baruch Spinoza фото
Robin McKinley фото
James Anthony Froude фото

„We start with enthusiasm — out we go each of us to our task in all the brightness of sunrise, and hope beats along our pulses; we believe the world has no blanks except to cowards, and we find, at last, that, as far as we ourselves are concerned, it has no prizes; we sicken over the endless unprofitableness of labour most when we have most succeeded, and when the time comes for us to lay down our tools we cast them from us with the bitter aching sense, that it were better for us if it had been all a dream. We seem to know either too much or too little of ourselves — too much, for we feel that we are better than we can accomplish; too little, for, if we have done any good at all, it has heen as we were servants of a system too vast for us to comprehend. We get along through life happily between clouds and sunshine, forgetting ourselves in our employments or our amusements, and so long as we can lose our consciousness in activity we can struggle on to the end. But when the end comes, when the life is lived and done, and stands there face to face with us; or if the heart is weak, and the spell breaks too soon, as if the strange master-worker has no longer any work to offer us, and turns us off to idleness and to ourselves; in the silence then our hearts lift up their voices, and cry out they can find no rest here, no home. Neither pleasure, nor rank, nor money, nor success in life, as it is called, have satisfied, or can satisfy; and either earth has nothing at all which answers to our cravings, or else it is something different from all these, which we have missed finding — this peace which passes understanding — and from which in the heyday of hope we had turned away, as lacking the meretricious charm which then seemed most alluring.
I am not sermonizing of Religion, or of God, or of Heaven, at least not directly.“

—  James Anthony Froude English historian, novelist, biographer, and editor of Fraser's Magazine 1818 - 1894
Confessions Of A Sceptic

Alain-René Lesage фото
Percy Bysshe Shelley фото