Best 44 quotes of Apollo Figueiredo on MyQuotes

All the joints and drinks in the world could only serve to remind me. I imagine myself being Gatsby watching the party that I have thrown to get to where I am. A future where there is a something. Where I am better, where I am something.

Another dead thing to haunt me in the night. And we will holler at lifeless crescent moons never begging for air or freedom. A flickering of a candle whose wick will not burn out as much as it will be extinguished by being drowned out. A wolf without teeth, howling his desires to unburden his soul.

Another thing I had to learn the hard way is that once the mind is stretched by experience it can never go back to its original dimensions. No matter how desperately the alleged master of the mind wishes it could forget. That means every belief, understanding and perspective I ever have will be shaped by my past experience. Bias becomes unavoidable.

Beauty in a dream and beauty in reality can both be witnessed first hand. Mad men and women also witness beauty in their delusions. My world is full of those delusions but perhaps so is everyone else’s since we read into things and in the reading into of things we lose their truth in order to gain some truth in insight.

Close your eyes, what do you think about? Not all dreams happen with your eyes closed, but the ones that do are the ones that have the most imagery, the most hope. Hope can be a dreadful thing but it can be a beautiful thing. There have been many great philosophers who have said that hope and dreams have this false sense of themselves, that they are only fragments of the real or true. They may be right about being fragments, but that does not make them any less true. Dreams send us guiding towards ideas, that are true themselves, if only ideals, of goals that we should strive towards. It is cliche and commonplace to call dreams fantasies of the mind, wishful thinking of fading things. Yet there are things that philosophers cannot explain, that reason leaves, all philosophers believe themselves poets but leave the soul out of their writing. The mind and its reason, that is truth. That is the belief. Yet anyone who has looked at a view that has left them without breath has known of something more.

Degrading to atoms, conscious or not. The world was always and never falling apart.

Ecce homo means behold the man. Behold the man and all his failures, if you can love him then God has forgiven and I have finally found a God worth serving with thin thighs and knots in her back. We have never kissed underneath a tree, I have never pushed your hair aside to shield the wind, I have never said whatever forces unseen and seen should be ours to smile eyes closed together. Buildings laugh at each other the way we do.

Getting high only made me think of you more.

Hardened, and kept jagged by the snow all I wished as I walked over the frosted dirt beneath my bare feet is that I would be able to tell the difference between good and evil.

I have felt your drool on me And never loved you more Then with your closed eyes Telling my shirt that home was not full of sights But only full of soul.

I lay there. Lay there. The places we call home, are never remembered on a map. And all manic episodes start with a thought.

I looked outside your second floor living room window. I saw a view I had never thought I would see. There were trees of reddish brown hugging a river, dying but beautiful. Telling me I was so much more than a moment, and yet only a moment could define me at the present time. The future is unseen. Expecting to be better, is not always the truth. It takes something to smash your brains in, to squeeze your heart, to torture your soul in order to make you see what is in front of you

I remember I thought that she smelled like something I had never smelt before, but it was the sweetest scent. I could not describe it, but it was like a picture. A painting I had wanted to see my whole life. She was rainy mornings, and the view of cars going by in blurs while you sat still. She was the moon, that was full, but you know could empty if there ever was a sadness. The emptiness is the part I hated. It was a feeling that made you empty to reciprocate hers, it was a feeling that when she was full she could make you full too.

I think I finally understand what it is that you experienced in our last moments together. The fear to resign yourself to a final belief greater than yourself. It is difficult to decide what cause to believe in because of the fear that it is a lesser unworthy cause, it is not the meaning but rather a symptom of looking for meaning. And in all of our attachments we long for them to have meaning no matter how long they last. It is a scary thing to create such a drastic action that changes your life. It requires more than faith, there will be a second where only the action and what Kierkegaard called the infinite movement would have to occur. The final dance.

It is a dangerous thing to go back searching to your past. All things grow, that means all things change. Two parallel lines do not meet, unless in infinity. The past would always feel different experienced in the present. What if the fond memories go away if you live in them for a little while. Maybe I am going in circles cause it could go either way. Now orbits, orbits are different. Gravitational pull is at play. And if Newton’s laws are taken into account the only way to create an orbit is to have a force that pushes you into motion, but also pushes you at a distance where another orbit is able to push and pull yours in an equal way. I guess our gravity has to be flung out into the void at its own force in order to find a matching orbit.

It is funny to think our perceptions of the world change second to second as we continue to experience more of it. And that everyone is creating their own meaning and purpose with every second that they experience. It seems impossible not to get caught up, or lost, in those moments of constantly change and we as imperfect beings surely interpret our reality in false ways because no one can know the actual truth of the world only their perception of it. The actual truth of what is best for them is always an idea. The people that say that they live in the moment, as most people do, are often forgetting that the moment in the present should be used to progress. Successes and failures are only understood in moments in the future, based on the present, during moments of clarity in retrospect. For this reason, I think its important to forgive people in order to give ourselves freedom.

It is the same way someone can greet death, to look in her eyes. The light that shone over her black hair whether artificial or natural made it glisten, never choking out the grand her. There is this deep belief that you know that this person has the power to kill you. Even if it does not hurt, even if it is not a pang of pain you feel inside you at every moment that you think will or will never go away. It is there anyways, I think I may think about it everyday and wish it had been different. It was a possible outcome I would have liked to live in.

It only takes a single harrowing moment to realize that everyone is insane regardless of how sane they feel. That all decisions, reactions are justified by your individual madness. It is important to know it, this madness exists. I know it exists. I know how it impacts everything I do despite not knowing what reach my actions will have. Dust is just skin we have left behind and some people are more themselves than others.

It was all a leaving light. A thing that passed in the distance, that was never yours, this and that world; empty, devoid of reason, but you could still imagine it happy: before the dark wood, before you had entered this place. Where there was no other place to go but forward. Everything you despised you could still come to miss. A little view that resembles what you once knew. So you survived the flood, you survived the apocalypse, left as the last one kneeling but what now? You have seen stars collapse on themselves, drawing light from the dark. We are living with the lives we choose, however we exiled ourselves there and to which island. What is worth dying for, you say as the blade turns further into you. A bed to rest.

It was if I made love to a nymph of the mountains or air or wind and she had come to me to make me fall in love and leave, with some grand plan behind those actions. The last time I saw her she was just looking anywhere but me, a magical siren who I was helpless to look at staring at her distant gaze. A side profile of one of the most beautiful things I would ever see, with her hair blowing through the fall Melbourne wind.

It was in Kuala Lumpur that I saw the tree roots at the botanical gardens grow as much outside of the ground as inside. I saw what used to be the tallest building in the world still appreciated for its beauty long after it lost its title. I thought people could be like buildings, still adored despite their best years behind them. I heard the horns of cars drown out the sound of fountains spurting illuminated shades of violet and crashing against themselves and I thought it was time to leave, to head home the same way I left it; expecting things to be a different way than how they actually will work out. The actions of ones life, makes his life, and in this way things can disappear but never leave. A person that sees beauty in only the grand has never witnessed true beauty, if the abyss is to remind us of anything it is that there is beauty in nothingness and everything. The forest that has no trees, no stones, no path and no flowers is still a forest because of the feeling one can get walking through it which leaves me wondering if the grand zero is everything, that reality was a moment in which I both existed and ceased to exist.

I want to be your lighthouse No matter how many dreams change I want to be built upon rock Weathered by storms Smoothed out by the sea With jagged edges only you know

Most of the conversation was said with our eyes. Our eyes told truths neither of us could understand. Her a Goddess and me her pew. It was spent with me looking at her and her looking elsewhere. Perpendicular.

Nature, or the natural, that is what we find beauty in. The idea that some idea belongs in part of an order. That it is more than coincidence or a strange occurrence or a singular moment but rather that it is a coincidence or a strange occurrence or a singular moment that is natural to our being is what makes it beautiful. As if being anywhere else but where we are would be wrong, a pale version of the beauty our hearts imagined.

Nature was beautiful and I felt in tune with the universe, like every single decision I had made had brought me to here, to the glowing now. And here is such a beautiful place to be

People age even in pictures. Champagne glasses can stay full. With enough of a leap you could say that pictures amongst the galaxies and quasars capture a tiny bit of the universe for however long they last. The only thing pictures cannot do is keep someone alive in anything but memory after they have passed. Some pictures although painful to look at should always stay up on our walls to remind us from time to time of who we have loved.

People are scared to talk about death, they fear what is inevitable because it ends the current chapter without knowing if there will be a sequel, but it would be so beautiful to wake up as your flower. Or an atom, part of some distant planet with you. We could collide until we merged like all the physics teachers said was inevitable. Neutrons, protons and some unforeseen gravitational force. We could be drops of UV rays on the skin of some moon. I am always stuck at writing a sentence without you, no writers block would be worth not thinking of you.

People spend time trying to impress people through the things they do and say in a tone any louder than a gasped whisper. The mass commodification of cool is perverse in the sense that the individual defining the term has its basis in what they think others will idolise in their own individuality. If there was no ego there would be no cool. If there was no cool, people would see more beauty. They would stop seeing their lives as more important than others based on what they themselves value

Perspective is reality, perspective can be changed, therefore reality can be too. In this way reality then becomes subjective.

She left me ravenous and wishing upon fireflies for more. Limbs as puzzle pieces we fit together.

So I drink just one more glass to get me through the night; I look at my lamp, my fan, all the pictures and posted on my wall and I know I have failed again. I have left things left unsaid, undone, unseen. With only my dreams to guide me. If I knew my greatest sins were behind me, and not only something I felt, I would feel safe alone in my flawed arms, hoping to touch something purer and lovelier than me, so I think of you. I know what hopes are left to you, I know what pressure they bring and I still feel them because if anything hopes are wasteless. They are the infinite until we become the finite. I know I should not be scared of them, I know that they could be false, but dreams themselves are only false when the individual is false. I am false. I am hope. I am all the things I wish I could be but never see. So I see you, beautiful, long black hair, I say: God let this all be for something. And you sit there with your brown questioning eyes, you smile and I think again: God let this all be for something.

Something I learned when I got older; your actions have a permanence. Delineations from the perfect line. Some mistakes can last a lifetime like the first brush of death. Some beliefs are worth tearing fabric for like perfect lines. It does not matter where a person has been but what they have done. There are people that can still be shallow no matter how much they travel or what they see.

Sometimes when all feels lost, when there seem to be no other apparent options, letting loose anything as an unknown variable is the only way to alter the course of your history.

The abyss is black and eventually I know I will smile, laugh even knowing all I think I know, maniacally while I howl at anything I could see that would laugh, snarl and howl the way I do.

The biggest lie I ever told anyone was that I would not leave.

The last step before death is the moment of its demise. The emptiness or the new life. But the last step is also a point of reference itself. The last step can last as short or as long as its creator defines it. The last step could be before death itself. It could be the middle of death. It could be the last goodbye or the last look before eyelids drop to a close like curtains.

The night sky should not be scary, it should always be beautiful. I imagine my marriage will be like this and that of the void, that I will love my wife when she dies and that it will love me back long after mine. The blank night sky faces me, with my back flattened out by another blackness.

The thing about death is that it comes. Even the cleanest of deaths can leave remorse. The duality of it is dealing and understanding when it is a loved one, we have to derive a meaning from it at least personally. We define ourselves with the way we let go of our loved ones. The duality of it is that this ultimate loved one for you can die and the fact that it did not mean anything more in the grand scheme of things than how it effects you those around you. Some egoists have this belief that one death is more tragic than another, this is most easily represented when a celebrity dies and the news on everyones personal flat-screen holographic television displays it throughout the day. The importance of life is erased in death. It is the polar opposite, it is the abyss of nothings what some hipsters call the void, there is nothing more tragic than it ceased to exist in any circumstance we as the atomic beings decide to view it as. Maybe there is no way of knowing what is more tragic, watching life escape a person you loved or not being able to say goodbye.

The thing about leaving home, that self proclaimed exile, is that you love it even more if it is that bird that sings you the answer when you visit it after being gone for extended periods of time. The longer you are away the more you will think about going back. If only for your eyes to weep at the changes.

The truly cost effective lifestyle would be to produce everything you require, it would subsequently imply a self-created kind of freedom. Time would be lost but it would all be your own, this however does not account for skill. The current institutionalised education system was not made for self-sustainability but rather extreme specialisation. The business sector itself accounts for a large amount of activity, so much so that it has its own defining term: the economy. Spaces in the world, both virtual and spatial have always had the socio-polticial-economic system but now it is more defined, more contested and more vulnerable.

Two insane idiots with the same idea, that is what love is.

We had sat on a bench to take a moments break earlier and we discussed the possibility of always being this high, obviously in love with the feeling of the world being perfect. Daren was sold on this possibility, thinking that this was the way to happiness. As happy as it made me I knew it was an experience that could not be repeated. When an experience is new or when it has not been felt in a long time, that is when it is its most profound. I knew it could not be repeated the same way. Beauty is so rarely repeated in experience. So they say, pleasure comes in halves.

We were all deeply more ourselves than we had been before.

What is the word that describes that feeling of complete of absent mindedness mixed with a sobering clarity. Like staring at a room that has gone blindingly full of light, a whiteness that keeps your mind attentive. What is the word for that feeling and does anyone else ever feel it? Do people begin everyday with their own prayer to a nameless god that is actually the universe? Are wishes our first thoughts of the day?