The nature of qualia (sensory experiences), such as colors or flavors
The nature of dreams
The nature of emotions (with love being a prominent example)
The nature of religious experiences, e.g. Søren Kierkegaard’s analysis of Abraham in Fear and Trembling, Problemata III, and in particular the mystic’s realization of nonduality
The near-death experience
The experience of birth
The psychedelic experience is largely considered ineffable to psychologists, philosophers and psychonauts alike
The musical experience, following Theodor Adorno, Vladimir Jankélévitch, among others
The human soul (see also sentience and the hard problem of consciousness)
The name of a god or gods, in some religions
The catrices of Spain
“I want to exist outside of ordinary life – separate from people who look at things in ordinary ways and are so concerned with ordinary things. Prestige, wealth, and contemporary notions of success don’t appeal to me. Modern life and mainstream American values don’t appeal to me. I want to love, feel love, learn, and create for the sake of creation. When I use the term minimalist I’m describing a life that isn’t obfuscated by the things that most people are always striving to achieve with a 9-5 existence. I want to feel sunlight and understand the delicate nature of the wind. I want to find beauty in everything.”—LJ user ohprettypetals_, 17 Dec 2005
“I’m all smiles & sunshine to Eli because she’s the second (useful) professor here to know me by name and I need references from my professors to get me into grad school so that instead of paying like 100000 a year to do a masters in finance and ending up at an investment bank earning the money to pay for my anti-depressants and beauty treatments and sad, empty parties, I can go get that doctorate in math and postpone for another 5 or 6 years the question of what it is that I really want to do with my life.”—Columbia undergrad, on the subject of academia
“But I can’t move on, ‘cause that means forgetting, forgetting everything we’ve had. Instead I keep running, keep running, I keep running back ‘cause I keep forgetting, forgetting you treat me so bad, so I keep on coming, keep coming, I keep coming back.”—Jessica Mauboy – Running Back (feat. Flo Rida)
ALICE: I’m going. DAN: I’m sorry. ALICE: Irrelevant. What are you sorry for? DAN: Everything. ALICE: Why didn’t you tell me before? DAN: Cowardice. ALICE: Is it because she’s successful? DAN: No, it’s because she doesn’t need me. ALICE: Did you bring her here? DAN: Yes. ALICE: Didn’t she get married? DAN: She stopped seeing me. ALICE: Was that when we went to the country to celebrate our third anniversary? ALICE: Did you phone her, beg her to come back? When you went for lovely walks? DAN: Yes. ALICE: You’re a piece of shit. DAN: Deception is brutal. I’m not pretending otherwise. ALICE: How? How does it work? How do you do this to someone? [Dan tries to think of an excuse.] ALICE: Not good enough. DAN: I fell in love with her, Alice. ALICE: Oh, as if you had no choice? There’s a moment, there’s always a moment, “I can do this, I can give in to this, or I can resist it.” And I don’t know when your moment was, but I bet you there was one. I’m gone.
There is no way in hell I can stick to my assignment word limit. The first part (the only part I have started) is 750 words. I’ve covered maybe 3/5ths of the points I need to make and I’m already 825. Bad. Have not even started on Part 2. Part 1 needs to be cut by 50%, which requires more or less complete restructuring. I do not know how to adhere to word limits or to be concise. I just don’t have it in me, not when it’s almost 3am and I can’t concentrate and this thing is due on Monday. Oh well! Sleep time.
“GIRL. Let me just tell you. I feel like such a love crazed 12 year old right now. Like I don’t think I’ve been this into a “celebrity” since Justin Timberlake in like 1998. JFC. I feel so lame about it, too. Like I keep telling myself to get over it…but I can’t. It’s really bad. Like not super-psycho bad…just like full on 100% in-my-pants-now lust. Eff. Boy won the most epic lottery ever in the gene pool department.”—Discussion between members in LJ comm re: infatuation with a particular Olympic athlete.
Just some soppy shit that teenagers go on about, but old fellas always crack up when you mention it.
Frank: But I LOVE her Dad! Dad: Son, that’s your cock talking.
Some sort of fucked up hormonal thing … ?
"I’m in love with a pear…" "That’s fucked up."
1) Being morons together. 2) The most noble dementia.
1. A human emotion caused by a chemical imbalance of serotonin in the brain. This imbalance is comparable to that of a patient with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). The obsessive focus one gives to another, is attributed to this chemical state, though unlike most cases of OCD, this imbalance tends to correct itself over time. However, when serotonin levels return to a normal state, said love does not necessarily fall apart. Love can reach, from a scientific standpoint, a second chemical state, moving away from the more common dopamine-drenched romantic state to a calmer, Oxytocin-induced state. Oxytocin is a hormone that promotes feelings of connection, bonding and attachment, and would generally be released if you were to hug a spouse, child, or family member. Scientific studies found that Prairie voles, which have high levels of Oxytocin, mate for life. When scientists blocked Oxytocin receptors in these voles they didn’t form monogamous bonds and tended, instead, to roam. It is just this feeling, this hormone, that often attributes to a successful, long term love. It is generally just this kind of love most people spend their lives searching for.
2. Simultaneously the greatest source of agony and complete and utter bliss.
3. Something that, despite all scientific research, will never truly be understood, especially by me.
“You want me complain? Alright then, fuck this. Fuck you, fuck all of you with your sniveling self-pity. And fuck all your lousy parents. Fuck my lousy parents while we’re at it. Fuck my selfish bohemian sister and her fucking bliss. Fuck my legless grandmother. Fuck my dead husband and my lousy children with their nasty little secrets. And fuck you Robbie for dragging me to this terrible place and not letting me have a Snickers bar! I’m going to get something to eat!”—Ruth – Season 2, “The Plan”, Six Feet Under
"I snap, turn round and let the young bloke have it: "I say old chap," I tell him, "I wonder if you can give the word ‘spastic’ a bit of a rest, there’s a good fellow."
Somehow - while turning around to face him - my matey admonishment has been forgotten and instead I come over as some sort of septuagenarian British lord.
A silence falls between us. I can’t believe what I’ve just said; neither the upper-class British accent I seem to have adopted nor the fey vocabulary. The bloke is discombobulated and why wouldn’t he be? There he is travelling on the 438 down Parramatta Road and he’s just been verbally assaulted by Lord Peter Wimsey.
Here’s my point: it works a treat. He is so shocked by this gentleman’s-club approach that he stops in his tracks, lowers his eyes to the floor and says: “Yeah, fair enough. Sorry.” For the rest of the trip The Larynx is transformed into a little lamb, sharing sotto voce observations with his pal about the weekend’s fixtures.”
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”—Mark Twain