...the task was not to choose but to accept, there being no obligation to choose between what was appropriate and what was inappropriate, only to acc… - László Krasznahorkai

. . .what became clear was that most opinions were a waste of time, that it was a waste thinking that life was a matter of appropriate conditions and appropriate answers, because the task was not to choose but to accept, there being no obligation to choose between what was appropriate and what was inappropriate, only to accept that we are not obliged to do anything except to comprehend that the appropriateness of the one great universal process of thinking is not predicated on it being correct, for there was nothing to compare it with, nothing but its own beauty, and it was its beauty that gave us confidence in its truth. . .

(...)de tal manera que no sólo apareciera la imagen, sino la realidad misma de la perfección paradisíaca que, aun dando la impresión de mostrar un mar inquieto, olas arremolinadas en torno a rocas salvajes, sumía a quien la veía en la inconmensurable simplicidad de la belleza, en la sensación de que todo existe y nada existe todavía, de que las cosas y procesos que viven a una velocidad inasible y terrible, encerrados en la necesidad aparentemente inagotable del alumbramiento y la desaparición, pueden soportar aun así una regularidad fascinante que es tan profunda como la impotencia de las palabras ante un paisaje incomprensible e inaccesible por su hermosura, como la fría secuencia de las miríadas de olas en la enorme extensión del océano, como un patio en un monasterio donde en la calma de una superficie cubierta uniformemente con guijarros blancos y rastrillada primorosamente pueden posarse y descansar unos ojos asustados, una mirada perdida en el delirio, una mente abatida, y experimentar cómo cobra vida de pronto un pensamiento antiquísimo de contenido ya ensombrecido y cómo comienza a verse de súbito que: sólo existe el todo, no los detalles.

In vain would we talk about nature, nature doesn’t want this; it is no use to talk about the divine, the divine doesn’t want this, and anyway, no matter how much we want to, we are unable to talk about anything other than ourselves, because we are only capable of talking about history, about the human condition, about that never-changing quality whose essence carries such titillating relevance only for us; otherwise, from the viewpoint of that “divine otherwise,” this essence of ours is, actually, possibly of no consequence whatsoever, for ever and aye.

...what one ought to capture in beauty is that which is treacherous and irresistible...