Ivan Klima says: there is little that comes so close to death as fulfilled love. Each appearance of either of the two is a one-off, but also once-and-for-all appearance, brooking no repetition, allowing no appeal and promising no reprieve. Each one must, and does, stand‘on its own’. Each one is born for the first time, or born again, whenever it enters, always sprouting from nowhere, from the darkness of non-being without past or future. Each one, each time, begins from the beginning, laying bare the superfluity of past plots and the vanity of all future plotting.
Neither love nor death can be entered twice; even less so than Heraclitus’ river. They are, indeed, their own head and tails, being dismissive and negligent of all others.
Love and death have no history of their own. They are events in human time– each one a separate event, not connected (let alone connected causally) to other ‘similar’ events, unless in human compositions retrospectively eager to spot– to invent – the connections and comprehend the incomprehensible.
And so you cannot learn to love; nor can you learn to die. And you cannot learn the elusive– the non-existent, though keenly desired– art of avoiding their grip and keeping out of their way. Love and death will strike, come their time; only you have no inkling when that time is. Whenever it comes, it will take you unawares. Into your daily preoccupations, love and death will riseab nihilo– out of nothingness.
Experience of others can be known only as a processed, interpreted story of what the others lived through.
《Liquid Love》的全部笔记 10篇