(via whitepaperquotes)
Sharing Poetry: Galway Kinnell, "Wait"
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand…
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
—Everybody's Free(To Wear Sunscreen) - Baz Luhmann
Baz Luhrman: The Sunscreen Song
(via embraceyourwanderlust)
Michael Cunningham, The Hours
Sometimes if a day goes by without any people in it, I wonder whether i’m an actual inhabitant of the hours at all.
There is always something left to love- Gabriel García Márquez
I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time. Of course I don’t when John is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone. And I am alone a good deal just now.
—The Yellow Wallpaper, Charlotte Perkins Gilman (via feelmyinhale)
(Source: intoxicatedsoul)
Creeping
I see her in the daylight,
But also in the night.
I see her in the garden
Creeping,
Maybe on the road too.
I shouldn’t look anymore
Out of these barred windows.
Sometimes she returns
To her place behind the wallpaper.
I see her struggle.
She wants an escape, yet
Should she achieve,
I have a rope to detain her.
The way she creeps about,
She mustn’t be trusted.
Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.
“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.
—Vladimir Nabokov (via djempty)
Orka (Swedish)
To not have the ability/energy to be able to do [something] any longer.
