anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
Listen—are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
Mary Oliver, West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems
Source: sunst0ne
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
And people get all fouled up because they want the world to have meaning as if it were words… As if you had a meaning, as if you were a mere word, as if you were something that could be looked up in a dictionary. You are meaning.
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
wwnorton-deactivated20200424
To know we are not alone, that our identity is not random but has a history and a meaning shared with others—that our existence has its own special kind of beauty—this is the great force of art to people moving against alienation.
Adrienne Rich, from “The Ink-Smudged Diaries of Adrienne Rich” [related posts]
Source: thecrimson.com
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
John Keats, Endymion
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
wordsnquotes
I would like to be able to gently drift in and out of existence when I wanted to.
Henry Rollins, Solipsist (via wordsnquotes)
Source: wordsnquotes
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
metaphorformetaphor
Everything and everyone, existence itself, has become an evocation, a possibility for resemblance. Perhaps this is what is meant by that brief and now almost archaic word: elegy. —Hisham Matar, from Anatomy of a Disappearance (The Dial Press, 2011)
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
As we are a doomed race, chained to a sinking ship, as the whole thing is a bad joke, let us, at any rate, do our part; mitigate the suffering of our fellow-prisoners; decorate the dungeon with flowers and air-cushions; be as decent as we possibly can.
Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway (via anenlighteningellipses)
lack of life
prevents death
the unwillingness to try
is worse than any failure
Nikki Giovanni, from “Age”, Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
A blind fate, a vast pitiless mechanism, seemed to cut and shape the fabric of existence.
H. G. Wells, The Island of Dr. Moreau (via anenlighteningellipses)
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
"God if I am rabid, I am equal to what is outside," she said out loud, and felt an extraordinary relief as though, at last, she’d discovered what it was that could create a balance between the quiet, rather vacant procession of the days she spent in this house, and those portents that lit up the dark at the edge of her own existence.
Paula Fox, Desperate Characters
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
waterships-deactivated20210909
“Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”
Sylvia Plath
fuck every single time that last line gets quoted without the rest
(via sadjailbait)
Perhaps to them the first condition for anything having real charm was this: that it must not really exist. To them only possibilities had any interest; realities carried no weight. They themselves had all the possibilities in hand, and had never given them away in order to make a definite choice and come down to a limited reality.
Isak Dinesen, from "The Supper at Elsinore", Seven Gothic Tales
anenlighteningellipsis reblogged
stoicremains-deactivated2017102
'I exist.' In thousands of agonies — I exist. I'm tormented on the rack — but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar — I exist! I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via whyallcaps)