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"This is time, time laid bare, coming slowly into existence, keeping us waiting, and when it does come making us sick because we realise it’s been there for a long time." — Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre.

But the recording is much more recent. Still, it is the oldest record in the collection, a Pathé record for sapphire needle. The vocal chorus will be along shortly: I like that part especially and the abrupt manner in which it throws itself forward, like a cliff against the sea. For the moment, the jazz is playing; there is no melody, only notes, a myriad of tiny jolts. They know no rest, an inflexible order gives birth to them and destroys them without even giving them time to recuperate and exist for themselves. They race, they press forward, they strike me a sharp blow in passing and are obliterated. I would like to hold them back, but I know if I succeeded in stopping one it would remain between my fingers only as a raffish languishing sound. I must accept their death; I must even will it. I know few impressions stronger or more harsh. ~Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre

"He is in shirtsleeves, with purple suspenders; he has rolled the sleeves of his shirt above the elbows. The suspenders can hardly be seen against the blue shirt, they are all obliterated, buried in the blue, but it is false humility; in fact, they will not let themselves be forgotten, they annoy me by their sheep-like stubbornness, as if, starting to become purple, they stopped somewhere along the way without giving up their pretentions. You feel like saying, “All right, become purple and let’s hear no more about it.” But now, they stay in suspense, stubborn in their defeat. Sometimes the blue which surrounds them slips over and covers them completely: I stay an instant without seeing them. But it is merely a passing wave, soon the blue pales in places and I see the small island of hesitant purple reappear, grow larger, rejoin and reconstitute the suspenders." ~Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre

"Kya knew from reading Albert Einstein's books that time is no more fixed than the stars. Time speeds and bends around planets and suns, is different in the mountains than in the valleys, and is part of the same fabric as space, which curves and swells as does the sea. Objects, whether planets or apples, fall or orbit, not because of a gravitational energy, but because they plummet into the silky folds of spacetime like into the ripples on a pond-created by those of higher mass." ~Delia Owens, Where the Crawdads Sings

"Perhaps it is impossible to understand one's own face. Or perhaps it is because I am a single man? People who live in society have learned how to see themselves in mirrors as they appear to their friends. I have no friends. Is that why my flesh is so naked? You might say-yes you might say, nature without humanity." ~Nausea, Jean Paul Sartre  

“So, I guess we are who we are for alot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.” ―  Stephen Chbosky,  The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Are we still aware that we have a soul? Maybe it is lost somewhere in the void searching its way through the darkness to the world which have millions of little fragments of our heart lying around in the graveyard of feelings. Our soul weeps sitting down on the gravestone and the innumerable pain we bleed from our hearts shine in the darkness  just like fireflies. They are lighting up the darkness isn't it? Just so little to make the path barely visible, but that is enough to guide the lost soul through faded eternal promises, countless memories and also the lost battles. In the wake of terror the soul find its solace in nurturing the heart and making it more stronger. He is ready to embrace the challenges ahead as well as to bear with the torments. Looking up at the fireflies he wonders, “Can the heart exist without the soul?”