coma divine
scio nihil scio.


98 notes ilpianobi:

Monica Vitti e Michelangelo Antonioni
849 notes "Beyond my anxiety, beyond this writing,
the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting." — Jorge Luis Borges (via fuckyeahjorgeluisborges)
37 notes

Buying New Soul by Porcupine Tree
35 notes Before Sunrise, dir. Richard Linklater, 1995.
3,978 notes "Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell." — Hermann Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund (via adichotomyof)
276 notes "There is no past that we can bring back by longing for it. There is only an eternally new now that builds and creates itself out of the best as the past withdraws." — Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (via itsquoted)
1,017 notes
1,160 notes "A poem in which I don’t compare
you to anything.
In which you are not an
elevator that I got stuck on,
or a train that never left,
but no more than a person.
No less than a person.

Today, you are not a mistake
or a rip in my tights or a lesson.
Today, I take myself home and undo,
undress, unlearn.
I take myself home and
write a poem about my skin
for the third time in a row and
then wash myself in it until
I’m clean and new.

A poem for the first full month
that didn’t hear the ache
of your name,
and for every month after.
A poem in which I am singular.
A poem in which I am more than
the people who never wanted me,
and I know this.

" — Caitlyn Siehl, “Singular (via alonesomes)

(via lifeinpoetry)

670 notes likeafieldmouse:

Herbert List
0 notes "S druge strane vrata jedan čovjek
ostavlja svoju pokvarenost. Uzalud će
večeras usrdno moliti
svoga čudnog boga, koji je, tri, dva, jedan
i reći sebi da je besmrtan. Sada
sluša predskazanje svoje smrti
i zna da je razumna životinja.
Ti si, brate, taj čovjek. Budimo zahvalni
crvima i zaboravu." — Jorge Luis Borges, Iskušenje
28 notes yet-another-universe:


René Maltête
Plaisir solitaire
105 notes "Being tired of all illusions and of everything about illusions – the loss of illusions, the uselessness of having them, the prefatigue of having to have them in order to lose them, the sadness of having had them, the intellectual shame of having had them knowing that they would have to end this way." — Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via vyon)

(Source: requiemforthepast, via vyon)

209 notes "The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd; the longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are." — Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via vyon)

(via vyon)

233 notes man-of-prose:

Édouard Manet, Bequest of Comte Isaac de Camondo
40 notes "I reflected how many satisfied, happy people there really are! What a suffocating force it is! You look at life: the insolence and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and brutishness of the weak, incredible poverty all about us, overcrowding, degeneration, drunkenness, hypocrisy, lying… Yet all is calm and stillness in the houses and in the streets; of the fifty thousand living in a town, there s not one who would cry out, who would give vent to his indignation aloud. We see the people going to market for provisions, eating by day, sleeping by night, talking their silly nonsense, getting married, growing old, serenely escorting their dead to the cemetery; but we do not see and we do not hear those who suffer, and what is terrible in life goes on somewhere behind the scenes…Everything is so quiet and peaceful, and nothing protests but mute statistics: so many people gone out of their minds, so many gallons of vodka drunk, so many children dead from malnutrition… And this order of things s evidently necessary; evidently the happy man only feels at ease because the unhappy bear their burdens in silence, and without that silence happiness would be impossible." — Anton Chekhov (via blackestdespondency)

(via blackestdespondency)