Showing posts tagged quotation
Listen—I want to run all my life, screaming at the top of my lungs. Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Like the crowd greeting the gladiator. Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream, exhale, release life’s rapture. Everything is blooming. Everything is flying. Everything is screaming, choking on its screams. Laughter. Running. Let-down hair. That is all there is to life.

— Vladimir Nabokov

(Source: free-parking)

  • 20 hours ago
  • 386
Self-absorption in all its forms kills empathy, let alone compassion. When we focus on ourselves, our world contracts as our problems and preoccupations loom large. But when we focus on others, our world expands. Our own problems drift to the periphery of the mind and so seem smaller, and we increase our capacity for connection — or compassionate action.

— Daniel Goleman

(Source: thepaintedbench)

  • 1 day ago
  • 203
And I think there’s a point where we stop coming up with excuses to stay where it feels easy or we wilt away, because growth will only come when you let someone in enough to pour their love like rain water down your crystal vase throat, and you might think that you could choke on something so big, but trust me when I tell you that you were perfectly tailored to fit this and going thirsty is just a painful and foolish way to kill yourself.

— Moriah Pearson

(Source: girasolestelle)

  • 2 days ago
  • 1718
I do not need to return. I will find you everywhere. You alone can go wherever I go, into the same mysterious regions. You too know the language of the nerves. You will always know what I am saying even if I do not.

Anaïs Nin

  • 5 days ago
  • 797
I hadn’t told them about you, but they saw you bathing in my eyes. I hadn’t told them about you, but they saw you in my written words. The perfume of love cannot be concealed.

— Nizar Qabbani

  • 2 weeks ago
  • 2613
Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic — decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don’t even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in though the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.

— Louise Erdrich, Original Fire: Advice To Myself

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

  • 3 weeks ago
  • 1127
I begin to wish for firelight, privacy, and the limbs of one person.

— Virginia Woolf, The Waves

  • 3 weeks ago
  • 595