And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, and I love her for that, because it was so human. So she was turned into a pillar of salt. So it goes.
- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (via likeafieldmouse)
You are like night, calmed, constellated.Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.
-

Pablo Neruda
(via mirroir)

I need this kind of silence. not the kind underneath which ferment posts like the one I wrote earlier. this kind.

(via writeme)

grey, discomfited,

i keep stealing glances from mirrors just to make sure i still have a face.

i don’t understand what it is i have to expunge before i get to speak my own language again. all i seem to have been doing is flushing out, flushing out, flushing out.

the parched well cringes, fissures veining walls in scrabbles for subterranea vouchsafed. 

nothing.

It’s still you.
It’s still you.
- Margaret Atwood, Shapechangers in Winter (via theunquotables)
In sorrow, pretend to be fearless. In happiness, tremble.
- Jane Hirshfield, last lines to “In Praise of Coldness”, in Each Happiness Ringed by Lions (thank you, growing-orbits)

(via tierradentro)

But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wanted to force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came.
- Virginia Woolf, from The Years (via diluvie)

(via helladweeb)

mythologyofblue:

And it grows, the vain
summer,
even for us with our
bright green sins:

behold the dry guest,
the wind,
as it stirs up quarrels
among magnolia boughs

and plays its serene
tune on
the prows of all the leaves—
and then is gone,

leaving the leaves
still there,
the tree still green, but breaking
the heart of the air.

-Carlo Betocchi, ”Summer”, trans. by Geoffrey Brock + +

passion:

started from the bottom and i was somehow able to get lower

(via parmandil)

hope:

statuamsalis

a plunge wasted coaxing snapped pinions into delusions of pilotry. the earth’s jaws unhinge, expectant.

leaning on recycled words, until something gives.

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