Nº. 1 of  60

There's an art to everything

I feel like there’s something terrible and wonderful and amazing that’s just beyond my grasp. I have dreams about it. I do dream, by the way. It hovers over me at odd moments. And then it’s gone. I feel like I’m always on the brink of something that never arrives. I want to either have it or be free of it.” 

(Michael Cunningham, “Specimen Days”)

Almost. It’s a big word for me. I feel it everywhere. Almost home. Almost happy. Almost changed. Almost, but not quite. Not yet. Soon, maybe.

—Joan Bauer (via 13neighbors)

…and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, ‘That was fine’. And your life is a long line of fine.

—Gillian Flynn (via uglypnis)

(via never-take-it-seriously)

"Open up your eyes

You can see the flames of your wasted life

You should be ashamed
You don’t want to waste your life…

All your life is such a shame, shame, shame…”

(Counting Crows, “Murder of One”)

(Source: hannah90, via nogreatillusion)

There were many nights when I would worry myself out of a dead sleep and think Christ, I’m not doing it yet, and I’d think, doing what, and I’d think back, the thing I’m supposed to be doing, the special thing, I’m not special yet, and I’m going to die if I don’t do it, and I’d think well what is it but I refused to elaborate.

The Only Time I’ve Ever Been To Connecticut | Mallory Ortberg (via christinefriar)

(via nogreatillusion)

"I grow old … I grow old … 
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.”

(T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”)

seafoamchild:

places i wish i was

  • on a spring picnic in a quaint english village
  • eating macaroons in a parisian boulangerie
  • sipping a pumpkin latte in a warm coffee shop on a rainy october day
  • picking blackberries on an august morning
  • at a summer evening garden party, wearing a white dress and drinking champagne
  • exploring a very old cemetery
  • in a rowboat, watching the sun rise on a misty morning
  • watching the ocean waves from a high stony ledge

How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?

—"14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes" by David ‘Doc’ Luben  (via bruisedkneesclub)

(via nogreatillusion)

memoryslandscape:

I don’t know which life I am living now.
A gentle wind leans into the trees. Evening
crawls up from the river bank. The words we never
say are looking for some path away from here,
maybe from that town a few hills over where
the leaves forget the earth that waits for them.

Richard Jackson, opening strophe to “Fear,” from Resonance: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2010)

(Source: twitter.com)

“When I was excited about life, I didn’t want to write at all. I’ve never written when I was happy. I didn’t want to. But I’ve never had a long period of being happy, Do you think anyone has? I think you can be peaceful for a long time, When I think about it, if I had to choose, I’d rather be happy than write. You see, there’s very little invention in my books. What came first with most of them was the wish to get rid of this awful sadness that weighed me down . I found when I was a child that if I could put the hurt into words, it would go. It leaves a sort of melancholy behind and then it goes.” 

(Jean Rhys)

rubyetc:

ohh ya gotta love an unyielding sense of impending doom

rubyetc:

ohh ya gotta love an unyielding sense of impending doom

(via englishmajorinrepair)

"Here it is better to allow for what happens, all of it…

Have you noticed how uninvited

Anything pure is? Be brave.”

(William Stafford, “An Address to the Vacationers at Cape Lookout)

"I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what an I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and they crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone."

(Jonathan Safran Foer, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close”)

Nº. 1 of  60