May 2012
73 posts
“Hard dreams. The moment at which you recognize that your own death lies in wait...”
– Ron Silliman, from “You” (via awritersruminations)
confusionis:
(I don’t know what to do about this habit of writing about the living, although to be perfectly honest I’ve long since ceased thinking it was a problem because of course I write about them as they live inside me, rather than as they really are.) Stanislav Lvovsky
“Reckless and random the cars race and roar and hunt us to death like blood...”
– Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via awritersruminations)
“Whatever I looked at was alive, everything had a voice,
but I never found out...”
– Anna Akhmatova, from “Fragment, 1959,” trans. Stephen Berg (via proustitute)
“This morning I suddenly catch myself: I’m not there, I’m so lost in thought, I...”
– Anna Kamienska, A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook (translated by Clare Cavanagh)
“Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like...”
– Anna Kamienska, A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook (translated by Clare Cavanagh)
"Hidden"
saturnrising:
If you place a fern under a stone the next day it will be nearly invisible as if the stone has swallowed it.
If you tuck the name of a loved one under your tongue too long without speaking it it becomes blood sigh the little sucked-in breath of air hiding everywhere beneath your words.
No one sees the fuel that feeds you
—Naomi Shihab Nye (via rabbit-light)
“Not just any talk is conversation; not any talk raises consciousness. Good...”
– James Hillman (via shaktilover)
“The artistic life is a long, lovely suicide.”
– Oscar Wilde (via loveage-moondream)
“Life has no plot, why must films or fiction?”
– Jim Jarmusch (via forbiddenalleys)
“The pastoral country darkened, became coaly, became smokey, became infernal, got...”
– from “Lazy Tour” by Dickens and Collins
“my body
writes into your flesh
the poem
you make of me”
– Audre Lorde, from “Recreation” (via awritersruminations)
“We are only bodies jogging along side by side. I exist only in the soles of my...”
– Virginia Woolf, The Waves. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
“In all this calm,
in all this mist,
these vague shaped
continents
begin to...”
– “Dear Universe,” Wendy Videlock (via clavicola)
“I think people are often quite unaware of their inner selves, their other...”
– Jeanette Winterson, Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 150 (via leopoldgursky)
“Because
only the truest things always
are true because they can’t be true”
– e. e. cummings, from “that melancholy” (via proustitute)
“Don’t be afraid. The future is not disguised
as sleep. It is a tango. It...”
– Traci Brimhall, from “Through a Glass Darkly” (via proustitute)
“Which means that I carry within me people who are not me, and with them I look...”
– Péter Nádas, Parallel Stories, trans. Imre Goldstein (via proustitute)
“Beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.”
– Virginia Woolf, The Waves. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
“It is easy, of course, to fear happiness. There is often complacency in the...”
– Tim O’Brien, Going After Cacciato (via gaws)
“Why is the word yes so brief?
It should be
the longest,
the hardest,
so that...”
– Vera Pavlova, from “If There Is Something to Desire” (via proustitute)
“But hands are sacred things. Touch is personal, fingers of love, feelers of...”
– Keri Hulme, from “The Bone People” (via weissewiese)
“I want to love you…
but only the terrible
would bring us close, the mercy of...”
– (via ahuntersheart)
“If there, in that corner, it was bright, here, in this, she felt the need of...”
– Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
“I would never be part of anything. I would never really belong anywhere, and I...”
– Jean Rhys, Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography (via boxofoctaves)
“Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.”
– Virginia Woolf, Jacob’s Room (via wrists)
“Better the wind, the sea, the salt
in your eyes,
than this, this, this.”
– H. D., from “The Look-out” (Collected Poems 1912-1944)
“Their eyes met for a second; but they did not want to speak to each other. They...”
– Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse (via distantheartbeats)
“You are a mystery I promise I will never try to solve.”
– Stay, Andrea Gibson (via montyfox)
“Memories rose up inside him, and not only personal memories: history took shape,...”
– Hans Keilson, Comedy in a Minor Key (translated by Damion Searls)
“I haven’t this “reality” gift. I insubstantise, wilfully to some extent,...”
– Virginia Woolf, Diary Entry, 19 June 1923. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
“I am
the sun and moon and forever hungry
the sharpened edge
where day and...”
– Audre Lorde, from “From the House of Yemanjá” (via wine-loving-vagabond)
“And this is where
you want to live
forever—to grow so
transparent, so...”
– William Greenway, from “Drinking Like a Fish” (via proustitute)
“I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What...”
– Anna Kamienska, from “A Nest of Quiet,” trans. Clare Cavanagh (via awritersruminations) (via proustitute)
“It’s life that matters, nothing but life — the process of discovering, the...”
– Virginia Woolf, Night And Day. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
“… for though we wish to live
utterly alive, within our skins,
there lives in...”
– Moya Cannon, from “Harmonic Vases” (via proustitute)
“When I fall into the abyss, I go straight into it, head down and heels up, and...”
– Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via threedaysofrain)
“The mind was dreaming. The world was its dream.”
– Jorge Luis Borges, from “The Circular Ruins” in Collected Fictions, trans. Andrew Hurley (via proustitute)
“It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,...”
– Billy Collins, from “Litany” (thanks, risky wiver)
“You fit the world in your mouth and I’m jealous of all the cobweb space. I scour...”
– “I Will Take My Pants Off While You Videotape the Moon,” Gregory Sherl (via clavicola)
“Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the...”
– T.S. Eliot, from “East Coker” from Four Quartets (via awritersruminations)
from “Dogfish” by Mary Oliver →
saturnrising:
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive for a little while.
(mythoftheheart via tarnishedtype)
“Oh, my dear, had you been here this spring, you would have seen how the bleeding...”
– Madelon Sprengnether, from “Angel of Duluth” (via proustitute)
“Often I sit and think of looking at things. The greed of my eye is insatiable.To...”
– Virginia Woolf, Diary Entry, 5 March, 1927. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
ahuntersheart:
“the greatest things-let’s have an understanding- are not confusing sensuality with passion, of love with fulfilment, of heaven with possibility; the greatest things are about belonging to what you have no command over- sunsets, tears, and the face that is dearest; love is about being killed when you lack the inclination-“ -Pier Giorgio Di Cicco, from “The Wilderness”
