June 2013
4 posts
“
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.
people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.
it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone
untouched
unspoken to
watering a plant.
” —Charles Bukowski, “The Crunch” (via larmoyante)
“Everything I’ve ever let go of had claw marks on it.”
—David Foster Wallace (via an-exquisite-corpse)
have you ever thought about how weird sleeping is like we basically dress ourselves in special sleeping clothes and lay on special sleeping mats then spend the next few hours completely comatose all the while hallucinating vividly
May 2013
11 posts
“When a man sleeps, he is steeped and lost in a limp toneless happiness: awake he is restless, tortured by his body and the illusion of existence. Why have men spent the centuries seeking to overcome the awakened body? Put it to sleep, that is a better way. Let it serve only to turn the sleeping soul over, to change the blood-stream and thus make possible a deeper and more refined sleep.”
—Flann O’Brien, At Swim-Two-Birds (via larmoyante)
German word:
irre
lost, astray, wrong, insane
“We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.”
—Buddha (via perfect)
“What do I think of Western civilisation? I think it would be a very good idea.” - Mahatma Gandhi”
—(via the-random-quotes)
April 2013
25 posts
“
All booze is just a sleeping pill now,
I close my eyes. Love.
You taste like someone waving.
I try and drink away the thing in my brain
that makes me wish these lines
are really what I feel.
Sometimes living is a swiss bliss
and sometimes it’s a rot popsicle.
The difference between bad living and bad loving
is a slipped keystroke.
“
There is no room in our hearts
for the dead, though we often imagine that there is,
or wish it to be so,
to preserve them in our warmth,
our sweet darkness, where their fists
might beat at the soft contours of our love.
And though we might like to think
that they would call out to us, they could never do so,
being there. They would never dare to speak,
lest their mouths, our names, fill
quietly with blood.
We carry the dead in our hands
as we might carry water - with a careful,
reverential tread.
There is no other way.
How easily, how easily their faces spill.
” —John Glenday (via rarararambles)
“I knew what love was supposed to be: obsession with undertones of nausea.”
—Margaret Atwood (via rarararambles)
“He lived in a dream, and the reality meant nothing to him.”
—The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham (via thechocolatebrigade)
“Perhaps they were right putting love into books. Perhaps it could not live anywhere else.”
—William Faulkner (via 13neighbors)
“If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.”
—Tennessee Williams (via stuff—n—things)
“Memory invents another present.
As it invents myself.
What has been lived
blurs with today.” —Octavio Paz, from “Preparatory Exercise” in A Tree Within, trans. Eliot Weinberger (New Directions, 1988)
As it invents myself.
What has been lived
blurs with today.” —Octavio Paz, from “Preparatory Exercise” in A Tree Within, trans. Eliot Weinberger (New Directions, 1988)
“Memories come to mind like excavated statues
that have misplaced their heads.” —Wisława Szymborska, from “Travel Elegy” in View with a Grain of Sand, trans. Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh (via proustitute)
that have misplaced their heads.” —Wisława Szymborska, from “Travel Elegy” in View with a Grain of Sand, trans. Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh (via proustitute)
“Just then the sultry air coagulated and wove itself into the shape of a man—a transparent man of the strangest appearance. On his small head was a jockey cap, and he wore a short check jacket fabricated of air. The man was seven feet tall but narrow in the shoulders, incredibly thin and with a face made for derision.”
—dope paragraph on the second page of Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita (via alicebolin)
“But then the cat pulled a trick that was even more skillful. Suddenly rising from the couch, he walked on his hind paws to the table under the mirror, pulled the stopper out of the carafe, poured some vodka into a glass, drank it, put the stopper back in place, and then wiped his whiskers with the makeup rag.”
—Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita (via mj-arnett)
“But would you kindly ponder this question: What would your good do if evil didn’t exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light? You’re stupid.”
― Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita
“Love leaped out in front of us like a murderer in an alley leaping out of nowhere, and struck us both at once. As lightning strikes, as a Finnish knife strikes! She, by the way, insisted afterwards that it wasn’t so, that we had, of course, loved each other for a long, long time, without knowing each other, never having seen each other…”
—The Master and Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov (via kocch)
Things getting an abortion does not make you:
- A slut
- A whore
- Irresponsible
- A murderer
- A sinner
- Satan
- A baby hater
- Unintelligent
Things getting an abortion does make you:
- Not pregnant
“If you love me, love me softly
do not scream from the rooftops
leave the birds alone
leave me in peace to!
If you want me,
finally,
must be very slowly, loved one,
that life is short, and love even more soon…” —Mario Quintana (via art-and-fury)
do not scream from the rooftops
leave the birds alone
leave me in peace to!
If you want me,
finally,
must be very slowly, loved one,
that life is short, and love even more soon…” —Mario Quintana (via art-and-fury)
“Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don’t fool.”
—Robert Brault (via lunaoki)
I sometimes feel like I’m trapped in a glass box. Y’know, kicking and screaming and pounding my fists, almost to the point of tears.
And yet my facial expression never changes. The face on the outside.
What’s worse, is there doesn’t seem to be a cause. Just some slimy sickness trickling from my spine to my finger tips.
“I did not lose myself all at once. I rubbed out my face over the years washing away my pain, the same way carvings on stone are worn down by water.”
—Amy Tan (via allegorys)
“I am decorating
your labyrinth,
tacking up snapshots
of all the people
who’ve gotten lost
in your corridors.” —Jeffrey McDaniel (via rarararambles)
your labyrinth,
tacking up snapshots
of all the people
who’ve gotten lost
in your corridors.” —Jeffrey McDaniel (via rarararambles)
“You are the poet, you walk inside my dreams…”
—Anaïs Nin, Under a Glass Bell (via thesweetestspots)
“In the very depths of Hell, do not demons love one another?”
—Anne Rice (via 13thmoon)
March 2013
46 posts
“Don’t get attached to moments. Good or bad, they all pass.”
—Yasmin Mogahed (via skeletongarden)
“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep.”
—“The Happy Prince” by Oscar Wilde (read it here)
“Too often, the only escape is sleep.”
—Charles Bukowski (via linguistry)
“
you will drift as I do
from head to head
swollen with words you never said,
swollen with hoarded love.
i exist in two places,
here and where you are.
pray for me
not as I am but as I am.
“I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books.”
—C. S. Lewis (via amorette)
