Dear Mr. Nadeau:
As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society — things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
E. B. White

This yearning for new and distant scenes, this craving for freedom, release, forgetfulness — they were he admitted to himself, an impulse towards flight, flight from the spot which was the daily theatre of a rigid, cold, and passionate service.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice (via journalofanobody)
The past beats inside me like a second heart.
John Banville, The Sea  (via analghesic)

(Source: sad-plath)

Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I’d give a great deal to know?
Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë (via awoundedrhymestale)
9 plays
It takes all the running you can do just to keep in the same place.
Lewis Carroll (via mycolorbook)
Do you ever wonder about plants feeling, being aware, perceiving even…They are in no hurry. While we rush around and speak in platitudes. It’s because we don’t trust our inner natures. There’s all this doubt, haste, lack of time to stop and think.
The Mirror (1975) dir. by Andrei Tarkovsky (via aglassofblue)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

80 plays Sideswiped Astronauts, etc

every time i feel like i’m feeling all right
i get punched in the gut of my absent mind

I can’t describe the sound of her voice
The music in her lungs
Or the rose pedals in her walk

But I imagine that her words
Are like fig leaves
That dance to the sound of opinions that refuse to be silenced
The conviction in her sentences
Can make an ocean question beauty of its own waves
I bet the stars spend hours in the mirror
Getting pretty
Putting on extra sparkle
Hoping that she will notice them in the moonlight
I imagine the morning gets jealous whenever she wakes up at noon
I bet the knees of twilight buckle whenever she compliments a sunset
I bet the streetlights shine a little bit
Simply because she is standing underneath them
I bet the sidewalk plays a symphony
Just to make sure that her feet have something to listen to in between steps

I can’t describe the sound of her voice
The music in her hugs
Or the rose pedals in her walk
But I know
I know that she is more than just another piece of land waiting to be claimed

She is an acoustic guitar
Waiting patiently for the hands that have been trained to hold her properly
She is a wind chime inside of a culdesac

And her skin is a melody
That very few men will have the pleasure of hearing

my favorite. by Rudy Francisco (via maktubian)

I can’t even … !!!

(via aglassofblue)

149 plays James Vincent McMorrow - Cavalier (SAFIA Cover) SAFIA
19 plays
Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. And so we ask ourselves: will our actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear our names long after we are gone and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?
David Benioff
19 plays
To me it seems to be important to believe people to be good even if they tend to be bad, because your own joy and happiness in life is increased that way, and the pleasures of the belief outweigh the occasional disappointments. To be a cynic about people works just the other way around and makes you incapable about enjoying the good things.
Isaac Asimov
When you dream too much of the sun, you forget the trees.