décembre 2010
“By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.”
– Arthur Rimbaud. (via colettesaintyves)
vulpecula:
Oh, everyone laughs in my face now, and assures me that one cannot dream of such details as I am telling now, that I only dreamed or felt one sensation that arose in my heart in delirium and made up the details myself when I woke up. And when I told them that perhaps it really was so, my God, how they shouted with laughter in my face, and what mirth I caused! Oh, yes, of course I...
“You can retain your innocence throughout life. It never really goes away. No,...”
– Kate Bush (via bowfolk)
1 tag
“I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.”
– Sherlock Holmes
The Adventure of the Lion’s Mane, 1926
Arthur Conan Doyle
(via vulpecula)
foxandfayvel:
A surprising fact about the magician Bernard Kornblum, Joe remembered, was that he believed in magic. Not in the so-called magic of candles, pentagrams, and bat wings. Not in the kitchen enchantments of Slavic grandmothers with their herbiaries and parings from the little toe of a blind virgin tied up in a goatskin bag. Not in astrology, theosophy, chiromancy, dowsing rods,...
“He had a mind like Aristotle and a form like mortal sin.”
– The Lion in Winter (via sircrowley)
“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”
– C. S. Lewis (via ghostwhowalks)
“The Gods envy us.
They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment might...”
– Homer’s Iliad (via aeternum-)
“I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the...”
– Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters (via a little story)
(via foxandfayvel)
“You have lived on broken hearts all your life.”
– C.S. Lewis (via nocternity)
From tender youth we are told by father and teacher that betrayal is the most heinous offence imaginable. But what is betrayal?…Betrayal means breaking ranks and breaking off into the unknown. Sabina knew of nothing more magnificent than going off into the unknown.
Milan Kundera
“I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s...”
– Haruki Murakami (via lapins)
snow; carol ann duffy
Then all the dead opened their cold palms and released the snow; slow, slant, silent, a huge unsaying, it fell, torn language; settled, the world to be locked, local; unseen, fervent earthbound bees around a queen. The river grimaced and was ice.
Go nowhere- thought the dead, using the snow- but where you are, offering the flower of your breath to the white garden, or seeds...
