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Quote by RJ Arkhipov

“What Will Linger/Hollow of Him - They crept so quietly back. Mere hints of words, at first, then whispers in the loud echoing a winter past. In this place, hollow of Him, his poetry resounded. I could almost taste the fragments of the worlds he had discovered. I remember the ache in his words; you could see each syllable smoulder in his gaze.”

Quote by RJ Arkhipov

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RJ Arkhipov

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“Washingtonians love the "So-and-so is spinning in his grave" cliché. Someone is always speculating about how some great dead American would be scandalized over some crime against How It Used to Be. The Founding Fathers are always spinning in their graves over something, as is Ronald Reagan, or FDR. Edward R. Murrow is a perennial grave spinner in the news business (though in fact, Murrow was cremated).”

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Book:This Town: Two Parties and a Funeral — plus plenty of valet parking! — in America's Gilded Capital
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“For a long moment we didn't move. We just stared at each other. So much time had passed since our eyes last met. So much had changed. I turned away and pressed my head to the cold window pane. I traced my initials onto the misted glass and, as they began to fade, He reached out his fingers and retraced my signature. I watched it fade once more and felt his moist fingers brush against my lips. He let them linger there a moment, then replaced them with his own lips. Then I woke up.”

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“El poeta Novalis, uno de los mayores representantes del romanticismo alemán, afirmaba que la filosofía se identifica con la nostalgia, ya que también en ella está presente el deseo ilimitado ―precisamente, nostálgico― de tener «el hogar en todas partes». En efecto, al igual que la nostalgia, la filosofía se sustenta en la escisión que se pone de manifiesto entre la vida interior y la exterior, entre la vida finita y la infinita, siendo ella, en cuanto tal, un «signo de la diversidad esencial entre el yo y el mundo, un signo de la incongruencia entre el alma y la acción». No es, pues, de tiempos felices el deseo de querer abrazar la filosofía.”

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Book:Principios de filosofía de la praxis
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“Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes. On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in fragrances aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer fancies and iris hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams; the years waited beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped comrade with purple flowers dripping from her fingers. We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are the dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as such may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people are pilgrims on the golden road of youth.”

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“I have a habit of being an archaeologist of my own past, a sentimental collector of personal artefacts which may at first glance appear random, but each of which holds a unique significance. As the years pass me by, I find that the number of objects within my possession begins to accumulate. A torn map. A sealed letter. A boat full of paper animals. Each item encapsulates within itself a story, akin to an outward manifestation of my inner journey.”

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