11 May 2021, around 9.39.
What is not seen is the growing and accompanying tension of consciousness in time. Not only, by its memory of former experience, does this consciousness retain the past better and better, so as to organize it with the present in a newer and richer decision; but, living an intenser life, contracting, by its memory of the immediate experience, a growing number of external moments in its present duration, it becomes more capable of creating acts of which the inner indeterminations, spread over as large a multiplicity of the moments of matter as you please, will pass the more easily through the meshes of necessity.
—Henri Bergson (Matter and Memory, trans. Paul & Palmer, pp. 248f.)
29 May 2021, around 18.10.
‘But come a little closer, darlings, that I may kick you a little harder.’ —Laura Riding, Anarchism Is Not Enough
29 May 2021, around 18.21.
The impossibility of satisfying even oneself; or, on having no clean linen in which to wrap things:
Yes, I once knew a woman who spent all her time washing her linen, in order to be always fresh and sweet smelling. But as she was always washing dirty linen and thus making the linen she wore dirtier than it might have been if she had washed less, she smelled of nothing but dirty linen. And why? Because she was over-sincere and a hypocrite. She got stranded in the fact of clean linen instead of moving on to the effect of clean linen, which is the end of the circle. And you are all like that.
—Laura Riding (Anarchism Is Not Enough)
31 May 2021, around 23.53.
Woman, to save herself from boredom, is obliged to enliven the scene with a few gratuitous falsetto turns, which he interprets as co-operation. Even at this boldest man cannot get beyond a conventional anarchism. He cannot see that he is on a stage and therefore he cannot see that it is possible to get off; so that his performance is continuous. And he will perhaps never learn that anarchism is not enough. His fine phallus-proud works-of-art, his pretty masterpieces of literature, painting, sculpture and music, bear down upon woman’s maternal indulgence; she is full of admiration, kind but weary. When, she sighs, will man grow up, when will he become woman, when will she have companions instead of children?
—Laura (Riding) Jackson (‘The Damned Thing’, Anarchism Is Not Enough, p. 208)