Manipulative

Minor Irritations of Human Life.

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“I’m worried. My heart is filled with uneasiness, apprehension, agitation.”

— Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Galatea Kazantzaki wr. c. April 1923

[thoughtkick]

“I’ll never be able to look at your face without loving you.”

—

Rachel Wolchin

(via quotefeeling)

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Nelly Sachs, tr. by Eric Plattner, from The Seeker: “Enigmas of Night,”

[lilcowgirl7-deactivated20210223]

You cannot live alone on the fantasies you feed to your mind, eventually you have to touch your life for real, assess and analyze your habits, understand your character, try not to hate yourself for your character as it was shaped when you were very young by circumstances outside of you, and begin learning how to cope with your character, how to build habits that work for you, finish small projects, finish big projects, expose yourself to more uncomfortable situations, assess why you want to leave that friendship before you leave it, raise your anxiety levels on purpose, so that you can grow, raise your work load on purpose, so that you can grow, so that you can build resilience, so that your life expands, and can be experienced by you in full and in reality

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[goodreadss]

“I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.”

— Franz Kafka (via naturaekos)

[geopsych]

Morning by a small pond.

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@aint-pidge

[absolvam]

“The days are long and weigh on me. I am suffocating.”

— Albert Camus, from a letter featured in “A Life Worth Living,” c. 1940

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My heart hurts and my soul is sad

[goodreadss]

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me, why I’m so adept at distance, why I feel so remote from things, why life feels like a rumor.”

— David Shields, How Literature Saved My Life (via goodreadss)

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“I am trying to make peace between what has happened to me, what the world is, and what it should be.”

— Gloria Anzaldúa, This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color (via theclassicsreader)

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“You are aware. That is your protection, that is your gift: awareness.”

— Jean LeBlanc, from “A New Prayer for Daughters,” wr. c. October 1969

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“Time drips, heavy, slow …”

— Albert Camus, from Notebooks 1951-1959 (Ivan R. Dee Publisher, 2008; first published 1989)

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“the sorrows of night press on my thoughts, […] and the days and years heap their empty horrors,”

— Octavio Paz, from “Sunstone,” The Collected Poems, 1957-1987 (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1991)

[allegedserialkiller]

being self-aware fucking sucks i wish i was a cucumber

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“But when winter comes I give and give and give. The excess of me starts to hurt and when I’m excessive I have to give of myself,”

— Clarice Lispector, from “The Stream of Life,” originally published c. 1973

[apocryphics]

“My God, my God, whose performance am I watching? How many people am I? Who am I? What is this space between myself and myself?”

— Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet (via luthienne)