A small part of what I scribbled  onto sheets of papers last night:

Philosophy is not the love for knowledge. It is the contempt for philosophical history (this one included) with a desire for superiority.

But I am aware that that act of contempt can be the ‘love of knowledge’ too but the meek, romantic literary device of that phrase should be dismissed.

I am so sick and tired. Of the noise, the squabble going on between the books, between living people channeling arguments between dead people.

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