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There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.
Man thrives where angels would die of ecstasy and where pigs would die of disgust.
The belief that we can rely on shortcuts to happiness, joy, rapture, comfort, and ecstasy, rather than be entitled to these feelings by the exercise of personal strengths and virtues, leads to legions of people who, in the middle of great wealth, are starving spiritually.
To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.
You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
Existence itself does not feel horrible; it feels like an ecstasy, rather, which we have only to be still to experience.
The ineffable joy of forgiving and being forgiven forms an ecstasy that might well arouse the envy of the gods.
Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all.
The forms of art are inexhaustible; but all lead by the same road of aesthetic emotion to the same world of aesthetic ecstasy.
Randomness I love. And I still love just a holler right in the middle of an ongoing narrative. Pain or joy, ecstasy.
