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An Existential Life: The Critic as Artist, Oscar Wilde »

Ernest: Must we go, then, to Art for everything?

Gilbert: For everything. Because Art does not hurt us. The tears that we shed at a play are a type of the exquisite sterile emotions that it is the function of Art to awaken. We weep, but we are not wounded. We grieve, but our grief is not…

fuckyeahexistentialism:

Whether it might have turned out differently or was predetermined is not the question…. The question is the story itself…. and whether or not it means something is not for the story to tell.

City Of Glass, Paul Auster