BACK TO TOP
posted 2 weeks ago
posted 2 weeks ago
posted 3 weeks ago
posted 3 weeks ago
posted 1 month ago
…are not the thoughts of the dying often turned towards the practical, painful, obscure, visceral aspect, towards that ‘seamy side’ of death, which is, as it happens, the side that death actually presents to them and forces them to feel, and which far more closely resembles a crushing burden, a difficulty in breathing, a destroying thirst, than the abstract idea to which we are accustomed to give the name of Death?
- (via hoobinadona)
posted 1 month ago
I hate victims who respect their executioners.
- Albert Camus (via speakingparts)
posted 1 month ago
Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via kradljivicazore)
posted 1 month ago
posted 1 month ago
The surrender to Nature’s irrational, strangely confused formations produces in us a feeling of inner harmony with the force responsible for these phenomena. We soon fall prey to the temptation of thinking of them as being our own moods, our own creations, and see the boundaries separating us from Nature begin to quiver and dissolve. We become acquainted with that state of mind in which we are unable to decide whether the images on our retina are the results of impressions coming from without or from within.
posted 1 month ago
And all this music said the same thing, all of it expressed what was in the musician’s soul: longing, a most intimate atonement with the world and a violent wrenching loose, a burning hearkening to one’s own dark soul, an intoxicating surrender and deep curiosity about the miraculous.
posted 1 month ago
It was being played with a strange, highly personal expression of purpose and tenacity that gave the impression of prayer. I felt that the organist knew the treasures hidden in the music, that he was wooing, hammering at the gate, wrestling for this treasure as for his life.
posted 1 month ago
Images, pictures, desires arose freely within me, drew me away from the outside world so that I had a more substantial and livelier relationship with the world of my own creation, with these images and dreams and shadows, than within the actual world around me.
posted 1 month ago
posted 2 months ago
And all this music said the same thing, all of it expressed what was in the musician’s soul: longing, a most intimate atonement with the world and a violent wrenching loose, a burning hearkening to one’s own dark soul, an intoxicating surrender and deep curiosity about the miraculous.
posted 2 months ago