"It must be those brief moments, tiny moments,...
melancholynotes: Hans Børli
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of...– Violette Leduc (via melancholynotes) (via saturnrising)
Wendy Cope, "The Orange"
leprintemps: airwalker: At lunchtime I bought a huge orange- The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave- They got quarters and I got a half. And that orange, it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It’s new. The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all the jobs on...
Celebration when your plan is working? Anyone can do that. But when you realize...– Shauna Niequist (Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Life)
I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud. And I...– Shauna Niequist (Cold Tangerines: Celebrating the Extraordinary Nature of Everyday Life)
Anonymous asked: I love the way you style your outfits on your blog, would you ever do a post with that lovely/amazing/perfect isabel marant green dress if you ever wear it in summer?
The Murder Mile: Marie Howe, "The Boy" →
leprintemps: My older brother is walking down the sidewalk into the suburban summer night: white T-shirt, blue jeans— to the field at the end of the street. Hangers Hideout the boys called it, an undeveloped plot, a pit overgrown with weeds, some old furniture thrown down there, and some metal hangers clinking in the trees like wind chimes. He’s running away from home because our...
Somehow she knew that you didn’t get many moments like this in your life:...– Wall, Neil Gaiman (via credoquia, neilgaiman)
Whatever form it takes, the everyday always has this one characteristic: it is...– Maurice Blanchot, quoted in Common Place. The American Motel (via unburyingthelead)
Every created thing desires to be natural again, to be what it was before the...– Paracelsus (via sex-death-rebirth) (via saturnrising)
all the twenty-somethings in the room should read... →
unicornology: tarts: You’re tired of pretending, tired of bluster, tired of fake swagger, tired of your pride, tired of seeming cool, tired of blowing things off, tired of shrugging, tired of going with the flow, tired of acting unattached, easygoing, tough, cool, incredible. You are tired of trying to be the very best, most beautiful, smartest, coolest, funniest, most ravishingly perfect...
Things didn’t turn out like the way they were supposed to, but what can you do?...– Life of Pi (Yann Martel)(via mostlyalive)
Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being...– Lady Chatterley’s Lover, D.H. Lawrence (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes) (via somesecretstories)
People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their...– Chuck Palahniuk (via urticaria) (via parissenflamme)
One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend...– Dale Carnegie (via oceanofmind)(via poisonedwings) (via suzywire)
So the West takes, then gives, and in the moment of giving repeats as well as...– Sara Ahmed, “The Politics of Bad Feeling.” Australian Critical Race and Whiteness Studies Association Journal 1.1 (2005): 72-85. (via ourwordscutandthrust) (via curate)
Anonymous asked: Hi, What magazines do you read? and whose style do you like?
I wish I could convey the perfection of a seal slipping into water or a spider...– Yann Martel, Life of Pi (via augustine336)
By nature, we do not perceive ourselves or others accurately. We magnify the...– Barry Grosskopf (via credoquia, crashinglybeautiful)
Make for yourself a world you can believe in. It sounds simple, I know. But it’s...– A Convergence of Birds: Original Fiction and Poetry Inspired by the Work of Joseph Cornell, 2001, Jonathan Safran Foer (via secretsandclues, vulpecula) (via jadorelavie) (via leprintemps)
l'arte della poesia.: There May Be More of This... →
Not just the cosmos you have thickly sown into the small field just east of your heart, but all that is held in disbelief, in unfaith. Not only the barbed paragraphs of scrub willows or the thoughts as thin as telephone wires, but what’s left of the salt lick of your soul, or of the woman you married. And what isn’t: that half-built house, laid bare and open, forsaken by the suicidal...