“If you stare at the center of the universe, there is a coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn’t care about us. Time doesn’t care about us. That’s why we have to care about each other.”—David Levithan, Every Day (via bookmania)
“I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can.”—Neil Gaiman (via fitz-simmons)
“I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it’s drenched in sunlight and it’s weightless and I know it’s not cheap. It’s probably not even real.”—Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves (via larmoyante)
“Anne, I don’t want to live… . Now listen, life is lovely, but I Can’t Live It. I can’t even explain. I know how silly it sounds … but if you knew how it Felt. To be alive, yes, alive, but not be able to live it. Ay that’s the rub. I am like a stone that lives … locked outside of all that’s real… . Anne, do you know of such things, can you hear???? I wish, or think I wish, that I were dying of something for then I could be brave, but to be not dying, and yet … and yet to [be] behind a wall, watching everyone fit in where I can’t, to talk behind a gray foggy wall, to live but to not reach or to reach wrong … to do it all wrong … believe me, (can you?) … what’s wrong. I want to belong. I’m like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. I’m not a part. I’m not a member. I’m frozen.”—Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters (via aglassofblue)
“"…We can’t be consumed by our petty differences anymore.
We will be united in our common interests…you will once again be fighting for our freedom, not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution — but from annihilation…’We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive!’
Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!” - Bill Pullman”—(via the-random-quotes)
“Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just “pretty.””—Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me | d.a.s (via getoffyourfeetandmakethiscount)
“Let me lie alone on my back in tall grass and see the sun and the water droplets on the branches and the red tree trunks through my own eyes. Let me color them and build them with my own words. Lonely, strong words. Let me stand alone at the edge of the earth and look at it honestly, alone.”—Rachel Corrie, Let Me Stand Alone: The Journals of Rachel Corrie (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
“A philosopher/mathematician named Bertrand Russell who lived and died in the same century as Gass once wrote: “Language serves not only to express thought but to make possible thoughts which could not exist without it.” Here is the essence of mankind’s creative genius: not the edifices of civilization nor the bang-flash weapons which can end it, but the words which fertilize new concepts like spermatazoa attacking an ovum.”—Dan Simmons, Hyperion (The Poet’s Tale)
“Barbarians, we call them, while all the while we timidly cling to our Web like Visigoths crouching in the ruins of Rome’s faded glory and proclaim ourselves civilized.”—Dan Simmons, Hyperion (The Consul’s Tale)
“She had always felt that the essence of human experience lay not primarily in the peak experiences, the wedding days and triumphs which stood out in the memory like dates circled in red on old calendars, but, rather, in the unself-conscious flow of little things—the weekend afternoon with each member of the family engaged in his or her own pursuit, their crossings and connections casual, dialogues imminently forgettable, but the sum of such hours creating a synergy which was important and eternal.”—Dan Simmons, Hyperion (The Scholar’s Tale)
I’ve never been far enough from home
to escape all the things that I can no longer take care of. The
farthest place I’ve been from you is right by your side, across
an entire circumference of a planet, pressing my palms
against your palms, all the oceans
right between us.
The heart, a prison inmate, and a bluejay
all walked into cell bars.
There is no punchline. This is just another metaphor
for having twenty-four ribs around the part of me that I want to
set free the most.
I dreamt once of sending myself in a bottle off to sea,
corking the screw over my head and letting the water pull me
closer to somewhere where my language is a foreign
When I woke up, there was rain spitting against my windowsill
and the roof was caving in so close that it brushed up
against my knees.