Nietzsche, the honorary name 'love'

We slowly grow tired of the old, of what we safely possess, and we stretch out our hands again; even the most beautiful landscape is no longer sure of our love after we have lived in it for three months, and some more distant coast excites our greed; possession usually diminishes the possession.

...

Here and there on earth there is probably a kind of continuation of love in which this greedy desire of two people for each other gives way to a new desire and greed, a shared higher thirst for an ideal above them. But who knows such love? Who has experienced it? Its true name is friendship.

The Gay Science, 14

Rilke

The Zeitgeist creates huge silos of power
that are as shapeless
as the straining urge
he acquires from everything else.
He has forgotten the temples.
We are the ones
who try surreptitiously
to save such squanderings
of the heart.

Duino Elegies

Nietzsche, music

Writing about and composing notes for a performance on silence. Nietzsche is inspiring.

http://www.nietzschecircle.com/agonist.html

Featuring Nietzsche and his relationship to music

Also: http://www.thenietzschechannel.com/music/music.htm

And, listen to the master create light in other various ways: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zH3rcIHn6FA

Keeping watch over Vesta’s ever-wrung flame
arsenals of pathways
that light elegy or
folios, recuperating

how we have not bothered with hands

ἄτη ἄτη ἄτη

ruined by ideas, she leaps heedlessly into more.
it's the lines, the lines that have gotten in.

Sontag, on writing, Paris Review

I write in spurts. I write when I have to because the pressure builds up and I feel enough confidence that something has matured in my head and I can write it down. But once something is really under way, I don’t want to do anything else. I don’t go out, much of the time I forget to eat, I sleep very little. It’s a very undisciplined way of working and makes me not very prolific. But I’m too interested in many other things.

mesmerize me.

Rockwell Kent, The Lovers, 1928

I love the chiaroscuro of this image but the plant... the plant is offsetting. Although it does delight in providing a certain obscurity. Is that where love is to be found?

Kierkegaard, journal selections

I was born in 1813, in that mad year when so many other mad bank-notes were put into circulation and I can be best compared to one of them. There is something about me which points to greatness, but because of the mad state of affairs I am only worth little.