I’ve often thought that there isn’t any “I” at all; that we are simply the means of expression of something else; that when we think we are ourselves, we are simply the victims of a delusion. ― Aleister Crowley, Diary of a Drug Fiend. Weiser Books June 1977 (first published 1922) Advertisements
Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them. ― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind. (Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition April 1, 1999) Originally published 1936.
I already knew this immense tenderness, which is only the last degree of sorrow… I knew then, already, that the intimacy of things is death. — Georges Bataille, L’Impossible, translation by Robert Hurley. (Editions de Minuit, April 1, 1962) Originally published 1947.
Some summers refuse to end. — Ray Bradbury, Farewell Summer (William Morrow, 2006) (via luthienne)
Her eyes were those of someone who’s just fallen in love, someone who sees nothing but her lover, someone who has no fear of anything. The eyes of someone who believes that every dream will come true, that reality will move if you just give it a push. — Banana Yoshimoto, Asleep. (Grove Press August… Continue reading Banana Yoshimoto
I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up. ― Lauren Oliver, Delirium. (HarperCollins; Reprint edition, May 17, 2016) Originally published February 3rd 2011.
Suicide is just a moment. This is how she described it to me. For just a moment, it doesn’t matter that you’ve got people who love you and the sun is shining and there’s a movie coming out this weekend that you’ve been dying to see. It hits you all of a sudden that nothing… Continue reading Carolyn Parkhurst