quotes

The Latest

Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted.
Brave New World, Aldous Huxley (via quotes-for-reference)
Apr 7, 2014 / 26 notes
you must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame;
how could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?
― Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Mar 31, 2014 / 2 notes
I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.
Jack Kerouac (via sophianism)

(via sophianism)

Mar 29, 2014 / 401 notes
At first I felt dizzy - not with the kind of dizziness that makes the body reel but the kind that’s like a dead emptiness in the brain, an instinctive awareness of the void.
Fernando Pessoa (via blackestdespondency)

(via blackestdespondency)

Mar 27, 2014 / 267 notes

you’re going to fall in love with a girl
with hair a little longer than mine, another writer-type with all sorts of ideas about things but perhaps a little less aggressive about them, you’re going to kiss her in the ways i taught you and you’re going to figure out some new ways too and when the two of you have sex, she will be just a little bit better at it than i ever have been

you’re going to fall in love with a girl that smells good enough you bury your face in the curve of her neck and her tummy will never growl like
mine always did. she’ll be deep and mysterious but she won’t come with the heavy past sitting on her shoulders. she won’t ever keep you awake with worry. she’ll always text you back
and never bite too hard and never act in a way she can’t explain later. she will not cry when she gets drunk, she’ll just fall asleep beside you.
you’ll fight with her sometimes because all couples fight but it won’t be with the teeth and claws that we had, it will be almost gentle, it will be over before it really gets going

you’re going to love her until you’re no longer really sure if what we had was all that special. you’ll start badmouthing me to all your friends. you’ll forget about me in most moments and eventually you won’t even be able to tell someone what our first date was or our first kiss or even if you fucked me
the last time that we spoke. i’ll just be gone to you, just a memory of a memory, a girl with dark eyes, a half-capable poet, some word on your tongue you’re no longer sure of but you remember that you used to know it.

i will no longer be important.

I’m still holding out hope that somehow someway we’ll end up together in the end…” /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

(via shining-tides)

Mar 26, 2014 / 10,152 notes
All the while I was acutely aware of L.’s nearness and as I spoke I gestured in the merciful dark and took advantage of those invisible gestures of mine to touch her hand, her shoulder and a ballerina of wool and gauze which she played with and kept sticking into my lap; and finally, when I had completely enmeshed my glowing darling in this weave of ethereal caresses, I dared stroke her bare leg along the gooseberry fuzz of her shin, and I chuckled at my own jokes, and trembled, and concealed my tremors, and once or twice felt with my rapid lips the warmth of her hair as I treated her to a quick nuzzling, humorous aside and caressed her plaything. She, too, fidgeted a good deal so that finally her mother told her sharply to quit it and sent the doll flying into the dark, and I laughed and addressed myself to Haze across Lo’s legs to let my hand creep up my nymphet’s thin back and feel her skin through her boy’s shirt.
Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov (via man-of-prose)
Mar 21, 2014 / 56 notes
It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born.
James Joyce (via observando)
Mar 12, 2014 / 749 notes
Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows.
Zelda Fitzgerald (via seabois)

(via faedelaforet)

Mar 9, 2014 / 1,700 notes
I’m not totally mad at you. I’m just sad. You’re all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you just sort of look up for a second and go right back inside.
Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via quotestuff)

(via chasiing-thesun)

Mar 9, 2014 / 36,590 notes
This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. The insomnia distance of everything, you can’t touch anything and nothing can touch you.
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club (via amillionsecondarythings)

(via nvmthewinter)

Mar 2, 2014 / 33 notes
The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.
Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)
Mar 2, 2014 / 11 notes
coveruncover:

Murakami began writing fiction when he was 29. “Before that”, he said, “I didn’t write anything. I was just one of those ordinary people. I was running a jazz club, and I didn’t create anything at all.” He was inspired to write his first novel, Hear the Wind Sing (1979), while watching a baseball game. In 1978, Murakami was in Jingu Stadium watching a game between the Yakult Swallows and the Hiroshima Carp when Dave Hilton, an American, came to bat. According to an oft-repeated story, in the instant that Hilton hit a double, Murakami suddenly realized that he could write a novel. He went home and began writing that night. Murakami worked on Hear the Wind Sing for several months in very brief stretches after working days at the bar. He completed the novel and sent it to the only literary contest that would accept a work of that length, winning first prize.
Mar 2, 2014 / 20 notes

coveruncover:

Murakami began writing fiction when he was 29. “Before that”, he said, “I didn’t write anything. I was just one of those ordinary people. I was running a jazz club, and I didn’t create anything at all.” He was inspired to write his first novel, Hear the Wind Sing (1979), while watching a baseball game. In 1978, Murakami was in Jingu Stadium watching a game between the Yakult Swallows and the Hiroshima Carp when Dave Hilton, an American, came to bat. According to an oft-repeated story, in the instant that Hilton hit a double, Murakami suddenly realized that he could write a novel. He went home and began writing that night. Murakami worked on Hear the Wind Sing for several months in very brief stretches after working days at the bar. He completed the novel and sent it to the only literary contest that would accept a work of that length, winning first prize.

Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads – at least that’s where I imagine it – there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (via man-of-prose)
Mar 2, 2014 / 435 notes
I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane.
George Orwell, 1984 (via introspectivepoet)

(via introspectivepoet)

Mar 2, 2014 / 1,736 notes
Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.
Mar 2, 2014 / 447 notes