January 2011
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December 2010
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“For almost a year now, he has been taking photographs of abandoned things. There...”
– from Paul Auster’s new novel ‘Sunset Park’ (via tallisphoto)
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Reading was my escape and my comfort, my consolation, my stimulant of choice: reading for the pure pleasure of it, for the beautiful stillness that surrounds you when you hear an author’s words reverberating in your head.
Paul Auster, The Brooklyn Follies
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Reading was my escape and my comfort, my consolation, my stimulant of choice: reading for the pure pleasure of it, for the beautiful stillness that surrounds you when you hear an author’s words reverberating in your head.
Paul Auster, The Brooklyn Follies
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Each time he took a walk, he felt as though he were leaving himself behind, and by giving himself up to the movement of the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape the obligation to think, and this, more than anything else, brought him a measure of peace, a salutary emptiness within…By wandering aimlessly, all places became equal and it no longer mattered...
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“So then I knew our time together was brief, but I was foolish enough to think he...”
– Her Ribbon
I’ve wanted to write about this for a long time.
(via nightmarebrunette)
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thatkindofwoman:
foolsonparade:
Toothpaste...
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“The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead.”
– Marilyn Monroe (via kari-shma)
artisintention:
a present presence, a paling past, a future for taking, nothing lasts
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peoplearegettingbetter:
All My Days - Alexi...
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nicekindofquiet:
Pirouette- Lisa Mitchell
I...
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for sore hearts at bedtime
thetumbleweedchronicles:
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“ANXIETY IS NOT fear, exactly, because fear is focused on something right in...”
– Understanding the Anxious Mind by Robin Marantz (via lauramariana)
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“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them...”
– Andy Warhol (via misswallflower)
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“Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see
That’s why last...”
– John Prine, “Souvenirs” (via liquidnight)
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I think every work of art expresses, more or less purely, more or less subtly, not feelings & emotions which the artist has, but feelings & emotions which the artist knows; his insight into the nature of sentience, his picture of vital experience, physical & emotive & fantastic. Such knowledge is not expressible in ordinary discourse. The reason for this ineffability is not that...
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