…et il faudra mourir sans avoir tué le vent… @egocentricsandco - Tumblr Blog

I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? “For beauty,” I replied. “And I for truth, the two are one; We brethren are,” he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, We talked between the rooms, Until the moss had reached our lips, And covered up our names.

Emily Dickinson (via drowningparty)

nihillist-blog

Three Colours: Red (1994)

illustratus

Dante and Beatrice by Henry Holiday

henk-heijmans

Leah with the scythe, California, 1975 - by Ilka Hartmann (1964), German/American

indiegamesource

Return of the Obra Dinn by Lucas Pope

favourletterwords

https://klim.co.nz/blog/martina-plantijn-design-information/

quotespile

“It is the metaplay — plots that depict the self-dramatization of conscious characters, a theater whose leading metaphors state that life is a dream and the world a stage — which has occupied the dramatic imagination of the West to the same degree that the Greek dramatic imagination was occupied with tragedy.”

— Susan Sontag, “The Death of Tragedy” (via thirdity)

shihlun

Akio Jissoji

- Poem

1972

cine-poeme

“In Search of the Miraculous”

metamorphesque

Against Fate, Frik (from “Anthology of Armenian poetry")

inneroptics

“I quit smoking in December. I’m really depressed about it. I love smoking, I love fire, I miss lighting cigarettes. I like the whole thing about it, to me it turns into the artist’s life, and now people like Bloomberg have made animals out of smokers, and they think that if they stop smoking everyone will live forever.” ― David Lynch

shisasan

𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟸𝟾, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶  𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟶-𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟹

metamorphesque

— Yū Miri, Tokyo Ueno Station

metamorphesque

and the sound of silence wrapped me up in a cold embrace.

Chiarelli Lidia, "Ophelia"

philosophybits

“Once Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn’t know he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke up, and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn’t know if he were Zhuang Zhou who had dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and a butterfly, there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things.”

— Zhuangzi, The Complete Works of Zhuangzi, Watson tr. (Ch 2)