A futile entity in this futile world

Read, Think, Die.. Playing with words on Tumblr cz no one did listen them anyways

[llovelymoonn]

on november

nina maclaughlin the paris review: "on the first of november, the ghosts arrive" \\ emily dickinson in a letter to elizabeth holland (early nov, 1865) (via @flowerytale) \\ anna akhmatova rosary \\ philip jenks colony collapse metaphor: "november" \\ robert frost the complete poems: "my november guest" \\ ellis nightingale (@ellisnightingale) \\ @honeytuesday \\ nina maclaughlin the paris review: "the dark feels different in november" \\ l.m. montgomery anne of green gables \\ maggie stiefvater the scorpio races (via @metamorphesque) \\ sylvia plath the unabridged journals of sylvia plath (via @louisegluck)

kofi

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Milton’s Paradise Lost :

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

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Shed your tears for those who have lived dying,

Shed your tears for me for I have died living

- Irvin Yalom, Chapter "Meaningless" from Existential Psychotherapy

[wonderstruck]

If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

[agnovirus]

#Existential psychotherapy

[rains-of-words]

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”

— Albert Camus

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Kepler knew what we habitually forget—that the locus of possibility expands when the unimaginable is imagined and then made real through systematic effort.

- Maria popova, Figuring

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Neither the heavens are humane nor the life above or below - or within me.

- Too loud a solitude by Bohumil Hrabal

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Life has no better reason, nor death a better Reward !

- The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

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In reality, for existentialists there is no love other than the deeds of love; no potential for love other than that which is manifested in loving. There is no genius other than that which is expressed in works of art.

- Existentialism is a humanism, Jean-Paul Sartre

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To love is merely to grow tired of being alone: it is therefore both cowardly and a betrayal of ourselves. (It is vitally important that we should not love.)

- The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

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All unhappiness enters through the window of observation and the door of thought.

- The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

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My soul is a hidden orchestra; I do not know what instruments, what violins and harps, drums and tambours, sound and clash inside me. I know myself only as a symphony.

- The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

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There should be nothing more arbitrary than the place where someone dies, on their way from one thing to the next, and yet it’s telling, too, that a man who was forever on the move should finish up in a hotel room, surrounded by pills and paper, two bottles of wine open on his nightstand.

- The trip to echo springs by Olivia Laing

[agnovirus]

Thinking mind is a curse !!