December 2011
“Our world is thick with it, clotted in patterns and patterns of grief. And, beyond this, I know you’re sad. I know your days are bleeding, too. And I know I make you sad. I don’t understand how not to, but please don’t bring in more of the grief, don’t add to it.”
—
A. L. Kennedy, “Frank” (from The Book of Other People, ed. Zadie Smith)
“It’s been a long time since I talked about certain things. So I don’t know any more—or I’m not sure. When I look at my life and its secret colors, I feel like bursting into tears. Like that sky. It’s rain and sun both, noon and midnight. You know, Zagreus, I think of the lips I’ve kissed, and the wretched child I was, and of the madness of life and the ambition that sometimes carries me away. I’m all those things at once. I’m sure there are times when you wouldn’t even recognize me. Extreme in misery, excessive in happiness—I can’t say it”
—La mort heureuse by Albert Camus (via suzywire)
“I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.”
—John-Paul Sartre; Nausea (via demonolatry)
“I don’t know any more. I used to know, but I lost the knowledge a long time ago. A man can’t go along indefinitely carrying around in his pocket a key that doesn’t fit anything.”
—J.D. Salinger, “A Girl I Knew” (via liquidnight)
“I prefer by far the warmth and softness to mere brilliancy and coldness. Some people remind me of sharp dazzling diamonds. Valuable but lifeless and loveless. Others, of the simplest field flowers, with hearts full of dew and with all the tints of celestial beauty reflected in their modest petals.”
—
Anaïs Nin, from The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 2: 1920-1923
(via 1beauty)
