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Quote by Alan Weisman

“Paranormalists, however, insist that our minds are transmitters that, with special effort, can focus like lasers to communicate across great distances, and even make things happen. That may seem far-fetched, but it's also a definition of prayer.”

Quote by Alan Weisman

Book:The World Without Us
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Work

The World Without Us

This book delves into the hypothetical scenario of the planet's recovery without human influence, examining the natural processes that would unfold in the wake of human absence. more

Author

Alan Weisman
Alan Weisman

Alan Weisman, born on March 24, 1947, is an American author known for his in-depth investigations and critical thinking on environmental and social issues. His works, particularly 'The World Without Us', have gained widespread acclaim for their insightful exploration of the potential consequences of overpopulation on a global scale. more

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“She felt the cold blast from the sterile air conditioning on her bare arms and thighs, as she ambled down the center of the shopping complex's ground floor. The scene was a swirl of candy bright lights--the Victoria's Secret fuchsia signboard, signboards which lured one to purchase "confidence," or "sexual appeal," or whatever it was that was being advertised--the fluorescent lights in each store, contrasting with the shiny, black-tiled walls and eye-catching speckled marble tiles on the ground. One could lick the floor--the tiles were spotless, clean like the fake air she was breathing in, like the atoms and cells in her that were decaying in stale neglect.”

DesireLiteratureSexMoneyBusinessSocietyConfidenceSexualityLustContemporaryMaterialismShoppingCommerceUrbanDesiresEroticErotic RomanceEroticaAstrologyLiterary FictionSelf ImagePopular CultureImageContemporary FictionSex AppealCommercialismEroticismErotic LiteratureGemini MoonSexual Astrology
Book:Jack in the Box
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“You've blotted the rich form of desire from my life and left me only some vaguely eccentric behaviors that have grown up to integrate so much pleasure into the mundane world around me. What text could I write now? It's as though I cannot even remember what I once desired. All I can look for now, when I have the energy, is lost desire itself-- and I look for it by clearly inadequate means. At best such an account as I might write would read like the life of anyone else, with, now and again, a bizarre and interruptive incident, largely mysterious and completely demystified-- at least that's what it has become without the day-to-day, moment-to-moment web of wanting that you have unstrung from about my universe. Without it, all falls apart. In a single gesture you've turned me into the most ordinary of human creatures and at once left me an obsessive, pleasureless eccentric, trapped in a set of habits which no longer have reason because they no longer lead to reward. And if I had enough self-confidence, in the midst of this bland continual chaos into which you've shunted me, for hate, I should hate you. But I don't have it.”

Desire
Book:Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand
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“إذا أشارت إليكم المحبة فاتبعوها, وإن كانت مسالكها صعبة متحدرة. وإذا ضمتكم جناحيها فاطيعوها, وإن جرحكم السيف المستور بين ريشها. واذا خاطبتكم المحبة فصدقُوها, وإن عَطل صوتها أحلامكم وبدَدها كما تجعل الريح الشمالية البستان قاعا صفصفا. لأنه كما أن المحبة تكللكم فهي أيضا تصلبكم,وكما تعمل على نموكم هكذا تعلمكم وتستأصل الفاسد منكم.”

Philosophy
Book:The Prophet
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