Saturday, September 29, 2012

Aldous Huxley

For in spite of language, in spite of intelligence and intuition and sympathy, one can never really communicate anything to anybody. The essential substance of every thought and feeling remains incommunicable, locked up in the impenetrable strong-room of the individual soul and body. Our life is a sentence of perpetual solitary confinement.

1 comment:

  1. “Sermons in Cats” from Music at Night and Other Essays (1931)

    by Aldous Huxley

    ReplyDelete