/lit/ - Literature

>>16886822
>>you can have sex with 9 year olds (they are considered adult women)
Based

>>16850849
I am a pedophile and I don't use retarded symbols like these.

>>16818389
Extremely based post honestly

"The life we live is a flexible, fluid misunderstanding, a happy mean
between the greatness that doesn’t exist and the happiness that can’t
exist. We are content thanks to our capacity, even as we think and feel,
for not believing in the soul’s existence. In the masked ball which is our
life, we’re satisfied by the agreeable sensation of the costumes, which are
all that really count for a ball. We’re servants of the lights and colours,
moving in the dance as if in the truth, and we’re not even aware –
unless, remaining alone, we don’t dance – of the so cold and lofty night
outside, of the mortal body under the tatters that will outlive it, of all
that we privately imagine is essentially us but that is actually just an
inner parody of that supposedly true self.
All that we do, say, think or feel wears the same mask and the same
costume. No matter how much we take off what we wear, we’ll never
reach nakedness, which is a phenomenon of the soul and not of
removing clothes. And so, dressed in a body and soul, with our multiple
costumes stuck to us like feathers on a bird, we live happily or unhappily
– or without knowing how we live – this brief time given us by the gods
that we might amuse them, like children who play at serious games.
One or another man, liberated or cursed, suddenly sees – but even this
man sees rarely – that all we are is what we aren’t, that we fool
ourselves about what’s true and are wrong about what we conclude is
right. And this man, who in a flash sees the universe naked, creates a
philosophy or dreams up a religion; and the philosophy spreads and the
religion propagates, and those who believe in the philosophy begin to
wear it as a suit they don’t see, and those who believe in the religion put
it on as a mask they soon forget.
Knowing neither ourselves nor each other, and therefore cheerfully
getting along, we keep twirling round in the dance and chatting during
the intervals – human, futile, and in earnest – to the sound of the great
orchestra of the stars, under the aloof and disdainful gaze of the show’s organizers."

- Fernando Pessoa