My love is like a tire iron.
We live in a world where there is more and more information, and less and less meaning.
Postmodernity is said to be a culture of fragmentary sensations, eclectic nostalgia, disposable simulacra, and promiscuous superficiality, in which the traditionally valued qualities of depth, coherence, meaning, originality, and authenticity are evacuated or dissolved amid the random swirl of empty signals.
Illusion is no longer possible, because the real is no longer possible.
What I am, I don't know. I am the simulacrum of myself.
History that repeats itself turns to farce. Farce that repeats itself turns to history.
Art does not die because there is no more art. It dies because there is too much.
All varieties of interference with the market phenomena not only fail to achieve the ends aimed at by their authors and supporters, but bring about a state of affairs which - from the point of view of their authors and advocates valuations - is less desirable than the previous state of affairs which they were designed to alter.
I think its nice when people find love, because I feel like everyone deserves it.
Just as a gardener must tend his or her plot, keeping out the weeds, you must tend the garden of your mind, weeding out the thoughts of lack, limitation, and negativity. You must nurture and tend the thoughts of happiness, success, and purpose.
Teenagers talk about the idea of having each other's 'full attention. ' They grew up in a culture of distraction. They remember their parents were on cell phones when they were pushed on swings as toddlers. Now, their parents text at the dinner table and don't look up from their BlackBerry when they come for end-of-school day pickup.