Existence itself does not feel horrible; it feels like an ecstasy, rather, which we have only to be still to experience.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
What happens when we're willing to feel bad is that, sure enough, we often feel bad - but without the stress of futile avoidance. Emotional discomfort, when accepted, rises, crests, and falls in a series of waves. Each wave washes parts of us away and deposits treasures we never imagined.
Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.
Bodily decay is gloomy in prospect, but of all human contemplations the most abhorrent is body without mind.
One has to go beyond the mind to experience the spiritual bliss of desirelessness.
Suffering is a kind of ecstasy in a way. Having pain all the time makes me terribly, terribly grateful for every moment I've got.
It's exhilarating to be alive in a time of awakening consciousness; it can also be confusing, disorienting, and painful.
I've never quite understood that feeling: that you arrive in a strange place, yet you want to have nothing but familiar experiences.
The eruption of lived pleasure is such that in losing myself I find myself; forgetting that I exist, I realize myself.
After an eternity of seeking the sudden threshold of seeing and finding leaves one filled with a strange paradox of ecstasy and grief. I was born to see.
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