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Quote by Anne Londra

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Chiara – Muse der Mafia: Gefangen zwischen Kunst, Gefahr und Leidenschaft

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Anne Londra

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“But man is still today, at the age of twenty-five, at the mercy of an erection, physically too, from time to time, it’s the common lot, even I was not immune, if that may be called an erection. It did not escape her naturally, women smell a rigid phallus ten miles away and wonder, How on earth did he spot me from there? One is no longer oneself, on such occasions, and it is painful to be no longer oneself, even more painful if possible than when one is. For when one is one knows what to do to be less so, whereas when one is not one is any old one irredeemably. What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.”

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Book:The Expelled
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“An individual may become aware that their sexual fantasies are racially charged or socially inappropriate. As a result, they might attempt to suppress or rationalize their desire by identifying as a supporter of racial equality or anti-racism. This cognitive dissonance leads to a justification of their fantasies as expressions of appreciation for diversity, rather than as symptoms of internalized racial bias.”

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Book:The Fetish of Welcome
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“Tiny bolts of lightning struck wherever Hana's skin touched Keishin's and sent a current through her veins. She had cradled countless bright, glowing choices and carefully set them inside their cages, but this was the first time she had held anything that felt so free. Keishin could go anywhere he wished, say anything he wanted, and chase after whatever he desired. He was the wind and the rain, unshackled and unpredictable, a storm swirling in her palm.”

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Book:Water Moon
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“At moments I wish to became part of the perennially roaring hurricanes of abuses and stand naked dropping all sense of responsibilities, And cry with the quivering speech it has taught by mustering the sanguine spirit made from this city’s water, with impulses supported by its air— This is a city of those who dance to the senseless slogans of the crowd, Of those who see beauty on outer paints used to camouflage real humans, Of those dozing contentedly on insensitivity as their ideals, Of those who live in dreams and die in waking hours, Of those who lose themselves walking, Of the lunatics.”

DesireHumanityFreedomSocietyIllusionMadnessChaosRebellionAlienationDisillusionment
Author:Suman Pokhrel
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