You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.
David Foster WallaceRead
My bones are ringing the way sometimes people say their ears are ringing, I'm so tired.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep sense of exhaustion that resonates physically, highlighting the weight of fatigue in everyday life.
David Foster Wallace captures the overwhelming fatigue that can envelop a person, comparing it to the common experience of ringing in the ears. This vivid imagery suggests that exhaustion can be so profound that it becomes a physical sensation, illustrating the toll that life can take on our bodies and minds in an unrelenting society.
In practice
In a discussion about mental health and self-care, one could reflect, 'My bones are ringing the way sometimes people say their ears are ringing, I'm so tired.'
You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.
Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe, the realest, most vivid and important person in existence.
It seems important to find ways of reminding ourselves that most 'familiarity' is meditated and delusive.
Under fun's new administration, writing fiction becomes a way to go deep inside yourself and illuminate precisely the stuff you don't want to see or let anyone else see, and this stuff usually turns out (paradoxically) to be precisely the stuff all writers and readers share and respond to, feel.
Acceptance is usually more a matter of fatigue than anything else.
Bliss - a-second-by-second joy and gratitude at the gift of being alive, conscious - lies on the other side of crushing, crushing boredom. Pay close attention to the most tedious thing you can find (Tax Returns, Televised Golf) and, in waves, a boredom like youβve never known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and itβs like stepping from black and white into color. Like water after days in the desert. Instant bliss in every atom.
Autumn is really the best of the seasons; and I'm not sure that old age isn't the best part of life.
Everything was good. But it was awful, too.
At twenty life was like wrestling an octopus. Every moment mattered. At thirty it was a walk in the country. Most of the time your mind was somewhere else. By the time you got to seventy, it was probably like watching snooker on the telly.
I did not want my tombstone to read, 'She kept a really clean house.'
Ours is an upbeat, a hurried, hasty beat. It keeps pressing us to go farther, to include everything so that we can savor everything, so that we can know everything, so that we will miss nothing. Partly it's greed, but mainly its curiosity. We just want to experience it. And we do.
The wonder is that so many OCDs manage to live productive lives, just the same. They work, they eat (often not enough or too much, it's true), they go to the movies, they make love to their girlfriends and boyfriends, their wives and husbands... and all the time those birds are there, clinging to them and pecking away little bits of flesh.
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