Mark Twain’s improvements to the title page of Plutarch’s Lives of Illustrious Men.
The decisive question now is: what lies behind the fact that we give ourselves this role and indeed must do so? Have we become too insignificant for ourselves, that we require a role? Why do we find no meaning for ourselves anymore, i.e no essential possibility of being? Is it because an indifference yawns at us out of all things, an indifference whose grounds we do not know?Martin Heidegger - Fundamental Concepts of Metaphysics: World, Finitude and Solitude (via fuckyeahexistentialism)
The Maine Summer Khakis And Sailboats Crowd.
Peter Lawford and John F. Kennedy, 1962.