Ohne (Unter)Titel

“[P]art of our problem in rethinking our need and desires for each other, and the impediments to our realizing them, is that it is sexual intimacy, with all its hazards, that has loomed so large as the primary substance of love, and the main route to happiness in adulthood. Yet this is a narrow view that does not encompass all forms of love, care, and commitment that influence our lives. Other forms of love — familial, friendly, comradely, and many more — remain distinct and significant, with their own pressures, rhythms, and demands, all woven around our need for each other.”

Wenn man die Urteile hinterfragt, hat man ihnen schon ein wenig von ihrer Selbstverständlichkeit genommen.

Actually, the heart is not broken, in the sense that it does not exist before the break. But it is the break itself that makes the heart. The heart is not an organ, and neither is it a faculty. It is: that the I is broken and traversed by the other where its presence is most intimate and its life most open. The beating of the heart - rhythm of the partition of being, syncope of the sharing of singularity - cuts across presence, life, consciousness. That is why thinking - which is nothing other than the weighing or testing of the limits, the ends, of presence, of life, of consciousness - thinking itself is love.

“But you broke up with him. Something’s wrong. Something failed.”