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Showing posts from November, 2025

The positions of the planets do not determine my personality; my position determines the personality of the planets.

Someone whose job is to look after children all day in a daycare—how do they endure all that noise?

I tried every possible way to free myself from my native language, because for me it has become synonymous with vulgarity, noise, and bigotry.

If I go to a psychologist or psychiatrist, what happens? The answer is simple: they will try to change me, to pull me back into society.

Growing up in emotional security blinds a person to the corruption of society.

A teacher is essentially an “assimilator,” because teaching requires the student’s education, and education means reducing and forcing them into molds, the molds of others.

There is no “good school” because that would be like saying “good hell.”

Sometimes I’m afraid to look at people’s faces. It’s not a social fear but an ontological one.

Cleaning the kitchen feels harder to me than creating a thousand-page philosophical masterpiece.

Trying to sow reason and thought into civilization is like trying to grow a plant in concrete.

I am completely dependent on my inner world. If it were to leave me, if it were to break apart and disappear as well, what would I do?

There is no god because there is the universe.

Rhetoric feels comic to me because I perceive this heavy fixation on human language as a kind of confinement.

As long as people expect change from political parties, nothing will change.

To be a parasite is to be a king.

My main concern is not with the masses, but with the frame in which the masses are trapped. And that, entirely, is in my hands.

If it is assumed that my camouflage is my personality, then the camouflage is working.

While writing, I never imagine a reader, because I write not for anyone else, but solely for myself.

I turn my texts into universes closed in on themselves in order to refute critique at the place where it stands before it even reaches me.

My philosophy, if I must give it such a name, is not to be seen as universal or all-encompassing, but rather as a kind of “weapon support” for weary intellectuals on a metaphorical front line.

I think about things so many times, over and over, that even the most serious and solemn ones turn into ridiculous comedies.

People are not consumed by constant rumination in silence. Instead, they are driven by a more primal madness—a frantic need to be with others, much like an animal reacting to isolation.

Things that drive others mad or even lead them into fights feel like “tiny noises” to me.

Specific individuals rarely provoke emotional reactions in me because I do not see an individual at all.

Even if the body’s conditions change, the mind’s characteristics do not necessarily change.

My way of showing love is to grant the person reality, to make them someone who exists; after all, people are unreal by default to me.

If someone opposes me, I do not internalize it; it simply passes by. But if no one opposes me, I get bored; there must always be something I can defy and neutralize.

Mystic walk in pripyat.

While the two main physical spaces that ease suffocating thoughts are hospital corridors and cemetery paths, the only true place is the inner world.

When I left my family, the first freedom I felt was the freedom to commit suicide.

You don’t need to design plans to get people off your back. It’s enough to just honestly say what’s on your mind.

In a country ruled by a people who struggle from morning to night just to keep their stomachs full, thought does not develop, because there is not even time to think.

The truth of a statement lies in how specifically it addresses a group.

Commercial advertisements as torture.

Even when people tell me, “You are very rude,” what they are referring to is not my personality or my worldview, but the “repulsiveness of my style.”

The person I have now turned into has seen many wars.

I am under no obligation to do anything—neither to be “kind” nor to show “respect.”

Not every human deserves love.

Even people who call themselves “social critics” are trapped in what I see as “cultural assimilation."

Nietzsche's philosophy is exploited in two distinct ways: one interprets his concept of "affirmation of life" as pursuing pleasure and taking pride in it, while the other perceives "self-overcoming" as a justification for tyranny.

Society is gaseous; the unawakened are liquid; the awakened are solid. Those who remain water will always evaporate into the air; those who are diamonds will always remain themselves.

Defend the self at all costs.

I have not suffered from the complete absence of meaning but from its extreme scarcity, which in turn magnified even the smallest experiences.

It is not the dead but the perfect that does not change, because it has no need to.

The ignorant fail to detect the ignorance of other ignorant people.

The greatest pain is not the pain that cannot be endured but the pain one does not want or is unable to want to endure.

If one pays enough attention and possesses a strong capacity for observation, it is actually possible to sense which category a person belongs to merely by looking at their appearance.

One who is his or her own god has no need to borrow a god from outside.

Sometimes I feel like a dog being fed.

I felt such a deep anger toward humanity that I refused to be angry.

I created all of humanity by myself, and when I interact with it, I am in fact only interacting with myself again, because there is no one else.

The United States is the world's nonsense.

Being close to suicidal thoughts usually distances a philosopher from the act itself rather than bringing them closer.

I sacrificed my soul for the sake of my philosophy.

The walls I built around myself eventually imprisoned me, and this only shows how skilled I am at architecture.

A person’s personality in writing and in speech is almost always different, and neither alone fully reflects them.

Young adults begin to show the real signs of aging when they start to feel that childhood and youth, which once seemed like the entire universe, actually occupy only a tiny space in a long stretch of time.

The existence of slang, meaning regional, sexual, or occupational variations, leaves language defenceless against cultural imperialism, because it has too many versions and can therefore be easily bent.

People who admire me resemble the small moons trapped in the orbit of giant and majestic Jupiter, held there by its immense magnetic pull.

Institutions exist not to let individuals live independently of society but to imprison them in it.

My pride doesn’t come from taking myself seriously but from not taking seriously those who are not me.

The very lack of meaning is itself inevitably a meaning.

Earth is not a “home”; it should only be an option.

Y: “Where is the wound you claim was inflicted upon you? I see nothing.” X: “Is it possible for me to open my heart and lay it before you?”

There are two gods in the universe: one is the one who created everything, and the other is me, who creates my own everything out of that everything.

The only noise I can make is the silence I carry like a shadow to every place I go.

It is not restlessness but rest that feels like death.

My feelings didn’t die; they simply grew too heavy to hand to another human, so I carried them alone. Over time, the carrying hardened into a personality.

I want to personally thank the USSR for giving humanity such a thrilling memory, for allowing the world to witness an experience as unique as the Cold War.

Y: “You are too silent. Why don’t you ever speak?” X: “Shut your mouth and be silent, so that we may.”

I longed so intensely to have been born in a different reality that I eventually forgot I even had such a desire, because it ceased to be a mere feeling and became the core of my identity.

Why do I not abandon the world? Because I have an inner world.

Those who have never grown weary do not know the feeling of rest that weariness brings.

I am intellectual sadism itself.

It is not revolutions that change the world, but a simple weather event—and it accomplishes in hours what would take years.

My reaction is always one of disgust and disdain whenever I see or hear of someone adorned with official awards.

There is only one true kind of elitism, and that is intellectual aristocracy.

I dream of only one thing: a revolution without rebellion.

My mind drifts back and forth like this, from the planet to the existence and from the existence to the planet, because there’s nowhere I truly belong.

What neutralizes hatred is indifference.

Among people, I am the actor. In solitude, I am the author.

I believe that personalities don’t actually exist—only reactions do.

The purpose of education is not to “enlighten the mind” or anything of the sort; it must focus on a single essential thing, if possible: not to transfer knowledge to students, but to instill in them the desire to acquire it.

I take full authorship of this myself, denying the world any claim over meaning.

Preventing disappointment is simple: destroy spontaneous curiosity.

The arrogance born not of reason but of sheer obstinacy is the most enduring kind.

When people commemorate past heroes, I see the very act of commemoration as a form of corruption.

People do not seek knowledge; they seek comfort.

The person who has been tortured has the right to torture.

If I am powerful, then the absence of love will be irrelevant.

People ask me, “What’s wrong?” I feel like telling them, “I was never understood.” But then I realize they won’t understand even that—so I just stay silent and walk away.

The way to save the planet is not to reduce the consumption of resources, but to reduce those who consume them.

I put on my headphones and start to cry. Every melody is an embrace, every lyric a kiss…

Freedom of the purposeless walk.

When I tell people, "take refuge in your inner world," I often forget that they usually do not possess such a place, or at least not one fit for so comprehensive a "lodging."

There are two screens that make the outside world unreal: one is made of glass, and one is made of pixels.

Freedom is slavery, while slavery is freedom.

When my writings reach people’s hands, they will treat them like bewildered monkeys who’ve just discovered a new kind of tool or object, not knowing how to use it or what it’s for.

When I keep in mind the fact that human beings are nothing more than meat, the world—and even all of existence—appears necessarily lifeless, even if it were conscious.

An usual mind feels horror at the sight of organs bursting out of the body; my mind, however, feels the same horror even when they remain inside.

If there had ever been a real person in my life, I suppose they would have remained completely silent before me.