"You go on and learn everything. I can’t. I’m limited. But I’m going to know about fucking and fighting and eating and drinking and begging and stealing and living and dying."

- Ernest Hemingway, from a letter to Ezra Pound (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via gnome--boy-deactivated20140420)

1 month ago 3,239 notes

"I read in a poem:
to talk is divine.
But the gods don’t speak:
they make and unmake worlds
while men do the talking.
They play frightening games
without words."

- Octavio Paz, from “Flame, Speech” (via literarymiscellany)

1 month ago 28 notes

"Dreams have only one owner at a time. That’s why dreamers are lonely."

- William Faulkner (via amandaonwriting)

1 month ago 1,925 notes

dollyammarportfolio:

Corot’s “Interrupted Reading” (reinterpretation) Op. 3 | Work in Progress

36” x 48”

Oil on canvas

1 month ago 9 notes

theantidote:

Gershwin (by Katia Chausheva)

1 month ago 23 notes

"Where’s your will to be weird?"

- Jim Morrison (via observando)

1 month ago 892 notes
16th
March
7,974 notes
Reblog
venusincostume:

Helena Bonham Carter as Marla Singer
Fight Club (1999) dir. David Fincher

venusincostume:

Helena Bonham Carter as Marla Singer

Fight Club (1999) dir. David Fincher

1 month ago 7,974 notes

"You decide for yourself when it will hurt."

- Per Petterson, Out Stealing Horses (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

1 month ago 32 notes

covetarts:

http://www.brianwferry.com

1 month ago 28 notes

ankosv:

le sacre du printemps, pina bausch, 1975

1 month ago 5,078 notes

"Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide."

- D.W. Winnicott (via 1nnocents)

(via colossalvitalityofillusion)

1 month ago 22,270 notes

nevver:

Beowulf on the Ganges

1 month ago 788 notes

"The sadness will last forever."

- Suicide note of Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)

(via dream-ager)

1 month ago 292,375 notes

greuze:

Leopold Schmutzler, Lady With Daisies Bouquet (Detail), by 1940

(via meeresstille)

1 month ago 2,120 notes

"There are books, that one has for twenty years without reading them, that one always keeps at hand, that one takes along from city to city, from country to country, carefully packed, even when there is very little room, and perhaps one leafs through them while removing them from a trunk; yet one carefully refrains from reading even a complete sentence. Then after twenty years, there comes a moment when suddenly, as though under a high compulsion, one cannot help taking in such a book from beginning to end, at one sitting: it is like a revelation. Now one knows why one made such a fuss about it. It had to be with one for a long time; it had to travel; it had to occupy space; it had to be a burden; and now it has reached the goal of its voyage, now it reveals itself, now it illuminates the twenty bygone years it mutely lived with one. It could not say so much if it had not been there mutely the whole time, and what idiot would dare to assert that the same things had always been in it."

- Elias Canetti, c. 1980 (via reads)

1 month ago 27 notes