How good must it feel to know that you will never have to expect anything less, never have to lower your standards, because that person will always give you more than enough, more than you ever needed or wanted, so that the only negative consequence that you can think of is the potential guilt…
Once you pass a certain age, life becomes nothing more than a process of continual loss. Things that are most important to your life begin to slip out of your grasp, one after another, like a comb losing teeth. And the only things that come to take their place are worthless imitations. Your physical strength, your hopes, your dreams, your ideals, your convictions, all meaning, or, then again, the people you love: one by one, they fade away. Some announce their departure before they leave, while others just disappear all of a sudden without warning one day. And once you lose them you can never get them back. Your search for replacements never goes well. It’s all very painful—as painful as actually being cut with a knife.
Psychedelics are not illegal because a loving government is concerned that you may jump out the first story window, psychedelics are illegal because they dissolve phonic structures and culturally laid down novels of behavior and information processing, they open you up to the possibility that everything you know is wrong.
1. Sponges, who absorb all that they read and return it in nearly the same state, only a little dirtied.
2. Sand-glasses, who retain nothing and are content to get through a book for the sake of getting through the time.
3. Strain-bags, who retain merely the dregs of what they read.
4. Mogul diamonds, equally rare and valuable, who profit by what they read, and enable others to profit by it also.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Readers May Be Divided into Four Classes