Nothing can have as its destination anything other than its origin. The contrary idea, the idea of progress, is poison.
Interpretation
This quote suggests that everything originates from a specific point and cannot deviate from that origin without losing its essence.
Simone Weil's quote reflects on the nature of existence and progress, arguing that attempting to move away from one's origin leads to a distortion of identity and purpose. This perspective challenges the conventional notion of progress as inherently positive, suggesting that true value lies in understanding and remaining connected to our roots.
In practice
This quote could be used to inspire a discussion on personal growth during a philosophy class.
The afflicted are not listened to. They are like someone whose tongue has been cut out and who occasionally forgets the fact. When they move their lips no ear perceives any sound. And they themselves soon sink into impotence in the use of language, because of the certainty of not being heard.
The appetite for power, even for universal power, is only insane when there is no possibility of indulging it; a man who sees the possibility opening before him and does not try to grasp it, even at the risk of destroying himself and his country, is either
As soon as men know that they can kill without fear of punishment or blame, they kill; or at least they encourage killers with approving smiles.
Evil is license, and that is why it is monotonous: everything has to be drawn from ourselves. One is condemned to false infinity. That is hell itself.
I am not a Catholic; but I consider the Christian idea, which has its roots in Greek thought and in the course of the centuries has nourished all of our European civilization, as something that one cannot renounce without becoming degraded.
How many people have been thus led, through lack of self-confidence, to stifle their most justified doubts?
βFaith, if it is ever right about anything, is right by accident
The ego is willing but the machine cannot go on. It's the last thing a man will admit, that his mind ages.
What am I pondering, you ask? So help me God, immortality.
Hatred. Something almost as physical as walls, pianos, or nurses. She could almost touch the destructive energy leaking out of her body. She allowed the feeling to emerge, regardless of whether it was good or bad; she was sick of self-control, of masks, of appropriate behavior. Veronika wanted to spend her remaining two or three days of life behaving as inappropriately as she could.
The being without an opinion is so painful to human nature that most people will leap to a hasty opinion rather than undergo it.
The art of war is of vital importance to the state. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected.
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