Cold,no fire can ever warm me...that is poetry

A collection of poems and quotes that mean something to me.

[sarahschapters]

Learning to fly doesn’t necessarily mean growing wings or having a super power. It could mean the simple courage it takes to jump out of an airplane, catching an airplane to the otherside of the world, climbing a mountain no matter if it’s the tallest in the world or the smallest, overcoming fear, winning the battle of cancer or depression or an eating disorder. Learning to fly isn’t feeling the wind race through you or your heart beating so fast its going to rip through your chest, it’s simply finally being free, feeling the weights lifted and finally being weightless achieving goals grasping even just another 20 seconds of courage and chasing what you want.

SarahsChapters (via sarahschapters)

[beautifulliterature]

When pain knocks on your door:

The pain is just meant to cleanse you. If i had to choose between, numbness and pain, I'd choose to be in pain for years Than to put on a mask of strength Where my laugh is empty and My tears are too proud to spill an ocean. One day, the pain will end, And i will laugh my heart out. It may takes years, but at least I will keep my heart alive and pure Instead of numb and tainted By pain that i refuse to feel. - Najwa Zebian

[beautifulliterature]

It’s like drowning but you just won’t fucking die

Anonymous

[beautifulliterature]

The astonishing purity of pain, how it will not be mixed with any other sensation.

Charles Baxter

[beautifulliterature]

Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, Catch your breath on the sand, Rise on wings; To be a dog, Or stroke its warm fur; To tell pain from everything it’s not; To squeeze inside events, Dawdle in views, To seek the least of all possible mistakes. An extraordinary chance to remember for a moment, A conversation held with the lamp switched off; And if only once to stumble on a stone, End up drenched in one downpour or another, Mislay your keys in the grass; And to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes; And to keep on not knowing something important.

Wislawa Szymborska, A Note

[beautifulliterature]

Everywhere one seeks to produce meaning, to make the world signify, to render it visible. We are not, however, in danger of lacking meaning: quite the contrary, we are gorged with meaning and it is killing us.

- Jean Baudrillard

[beautifulliterature]

Tonight is one of those nights. You know what I’m talking about. You close the door behind you and numbly lock it shut. You stare at your hands for long minutes before finally breaking. You gasp for breath, silently sobbing about everything that went wrong all at once. Everything that is wrong with you and the world and everything that you just can’t deal with. Then you deal with it the only way you know how. You take deep, exhausted, shuddering breaths as you quietly cry yourself to sleep. The next morning you wake up huddled in a corner of your bed with a sore neck and a pounding headache. So you get out of bed just like any other day.

[beautifulliterature]

Sometimes, All you can do is lie in bed, And hope, To fall asleep before you fall apart.

William C. Hannan

[beautifulliterature]

My head is a hive of words that won’t settle.

Virginia Woolf

[beautifulliterature]

The moon was an opal at moonlight, The lake a blue ribbon of wings. Faintly, so faintly, rain beat at the windows, And her mind filled with curious things.

Brooke Schmidt

[beautifulliterature]

You are a poem - written with flesh and bones and tiny particles of glittery stars and everything beautiful I am fated to love.

Anita Krizzan

[beautifulliterature]

For last year’s words belong to last years language, And next year’s words await another voice.

T.S. Elliot

[beautifulliterature]

There is a thin line that seperates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.

Emma Bombeck

[beautifulliterature]

For each part of yourself you give away, Someone else out there is doing the same. You are whole, even if you are made of borrowed parts, And you are an exquisite collection, A beautiful work of art.

Jessica Katoff

[beautifulliterature]

I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.

Charles Bukowski

[beautifulliterature]

…as I wondered the forest, the green leaves among, I heard a wildflower singing a song…

William Blake - by EM

[beautifulliterature]

Your story isn’t calm. The road has been chaotic at times, filled with detours and rain and loss so sudden, and soon. Sometimes the bliss was so elevated your heart could hardly hold it. Sometimes it was maddening to have, and then to lose. You learn soon enough that it hardly ever goes as planned – gentle, easy, and smooth. But that my friend is what makes you fascinating. You have something to tell. Something you’ve walked through. Something wild. Something courageous. Something true. You’re made of stories within stories within even more stories. Those quiet depths of you.

Victoria Erickson