"All life is a dream. No one knows what he’s doing, no one knows what he wants, no one knows what he knows. We sleep our lives, eternal children of Destiny."

— Fernando Pessoa (via human-voices)

(Source: blackestdespondency, via human-voices)

crashinglybeautiful:

"Finally I am coming to the conclusion that my highest ambition is to be what I already am. That I will never fulfill my obligation to surpass myself unless I first accept myself, and if I accept myself fully in the right way, I will already have surpassed myself."
–Thomas Merton (with gratitude to Whiskey River)

crashinglybeautiful:

"Finally I am coming to the conclusion that my highest ambition is to be what I already am. That I will never fulfill my obligation to surpass myself unless I first accept myself, and if I accept myself fully in the right way, I will already have surpassed myself."

–Thomas Merton (with gratitude to Whiskey River)

(via lynnehoppe)

"Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks."

— Dorianne Laux, “Dust,” from What We Carry  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via an-itinerant-poet)

"One of the most courageous decisions you will ever make is to finally let go of whatever is hurting your heart and soul."

— Brigitte Nicole (via tolosemymemory)

(Source: onlinecounsellingcollege, via tolosemymemory)

"We walked on the river bank in a cold wind, under a grey sky. Both agreed that life seen without illusion is a ghastly affair."

— Virginia Woolf (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

(via memoryepsilon)

"There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one’s heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes."

The Road, Cormac McCarthy  (via autobibliography)

(Source: stannisbaratheon, via a-pair-of-ragged-claws)

"The lucid interspace of world and world
Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a wind,
Nor ever falls the least white star of snow,
Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans,
Nor sound of human sorrow mounts to mar
Their sacred everlasting calm"

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Excerpt from Lucretius (via philofox)

(via justacrossthefield)

"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, from Original Fire: Advice To Myself (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via commovente)

"If, then, I were asked for the most important advice I could give, that which I considered to be the most useful to the men of our century, I should simply say: in the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you."

— Leo Tolstoy (via letteratura-litterature)

(via justacrossthefield)

"Every memory is moaning softly inside me. Don’t leave me, begs the past. Don’t abandon us, weep the images. Time itself is talking to me, admonishing me. I draw up my legacy against its inexorable tide."

Agnès Desarthe, from Chez Moi (Penguin Books, 2008)

(Source: metaphorformetaphor, via apoetreflects)