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You don't even live once.
-Karl Kraus
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You Don't Even Live Once.

Karl Kraus
You don't even live once.
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More From Karl Kraus

Everyone once, once only. just once and no more. and we also once. never again. but this having been once, although only once, to have been of the earth, seems irrevocable.
Earth Irrevocable Has Beens
I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. i hate the way you drive my car. i hate it when you stare. i hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. i hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. i hate it, i hate the way you're always right. i hate it when you lie. i hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. i hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. but mostly i hate the way i don't hate you. not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
Hate Lying Cutting
Once you start to ask patients about their priorities, you discover what they're living for. once you uncover that, it helps you, as a doctor, decide what to fight for. and when we do that, we often end up identifying limits to the kind of care that people want. one's assumption is that these people are going to live shorter lives, but what we're doing is protecting quality of life. in doing so, you sometimes end up helping people live longer. certainly, you help people live better days and with more purpose in their lives.
Fighting People Priorities
Where is it i've read that someone condemned to death says or thinks, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock, on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his life, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once. only to live, to live and live! life, whatever it may be!
Ocean Live Life Thinking
...a condemned man who, at the hour of death, says or thinks that if the alternative were offered him of existing somewhere, on a height of rock or some narrow elevation, where only his two feet could stand, and round about him the ocean, perpetual gloom, perpetual solitude, perpetual storm, to remain there standing on a yard of surface for a lifetime, a thousand years, eternity! - rather would he live thus than die at once? only live, live, live! - no matter how, only live!
Ocean Men Thinking
Once i spoke the language of the flowers, once i understood each word the caterpillar said, once i smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings, and shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed. once i heard and answered all the questions of the crickets, and joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow, once i spoke the language of the flowers. . . . how did it go? how did it go?
Flower Fall Snow
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I'll be looking for you, will, every moment, every single moment. and when we do find each other again, we'll cling together so tight that nothing and no one'll ever tear us apart. every atom of me and every atom of you... we'll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in sunbeams... and when they use our atoms to make new lives, they wont' just be able to take one, they'll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we'll be joined so tight.
Flower Clouds Light
And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and its accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion. and whenever those twin poisonous flowers began to sprout in the parched land of that field, mariam uprooted them. she uprooted them and ditched them before they took hold.
Mistake Flower Past
The sun is a huntress young, the sun is a red, red joy, the sun is an indian girl, of the tribe of the illinois. the sun is a smouldering fire, that creeps through the high gray plain, and leaves not a bush of cloud to blossom with flowers of rain. the sun is a wounded deer, that treads pale grass in the skies, shaking his golden horns, flashing his baleful eyes. the sun is an eagle old, there in the windless west. atop of the spirit-cliffs he builds him a crimson nest.
Girl Rain Flower
If people would just look at the paintings, i don't think they would have any trouble enjoying them. it's like looking at a bed of flowers, you don't tear your hair out over what it means.
Flower Mean Thinking

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