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More Posts from Fleshed-outofmetaphors and Others
The Bodmer Oak, Fontainebleau, 1865, Claude Monet
“I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.”
— Edgar Allan Poe
What has made me speak less with each passing day? I watch the dragonfly escape the lizard by inches and I decide to stay. I want my words and my life to escape death. So every time I try exaggerating my empathy , the insouciance, and the ability to extract only the bad side of my words and my life makes me edge closer to silence. I do not want to throttle my words to death.
What has made me speak less with each passing day? I watch the dragonfly escape the lizard by inches and I decide to stay. I want my words and my life to escape death. So every time I try exaggerating my empathy , the insouciance, and the ability to extract only the bad side of my words and my life makes me edge closer to silence. I do not want to throttle my words to death.
“Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.”
—
“And so it seems that I must always write you letters that I can never send.”
— Sylvia Plath
Reading was my escape and my comfort, my consolation, my stimulant of choice: reading for the pure pleasure of it, for the beautiful stillness that surrounds you when you hear an author’s words reverberating in your head.
(via minuty)
““You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.””
— Walter M. Miller Jr., A Canticle for Leibowitz (via hplyrikz)
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