[louisegluck]

May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal

[postcardsfromwanderings]

The old lifeboat station pounded by a wave, Newquay, Cornwall

[petaltexturedskies]

Her peculiar attraction: a radiance, a softness, an angel look, that rendered her countenance singular in its fascination; an expression of innocence and sweetness a pleading gentleness that desired protection;

Mary Shelley, from Lodore (originally published in 1835)

[mournfulroses]

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Lou Salomé, featured in A Love Story In Letters

[consecuences]

[seraphinesaintclair]

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, “Ghosts”

[dreamyvixen]

empty cup house ornament by ecclesia jewelry

[petaltexturedskies]

Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say "Look!" and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.

Mary Oliver, from "Mysteries, Yes" in Devotions

[petaltexturedskies]

Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, wr. c. September 1928

[thirdity]

“Laughing at the universe liberated my life. I escape its weight by laughing. I refuse any intellectual translations of this laughter, since my slavery would commence from that point on.”

— Georges Bataille, Guilty

[petaltexturedskies]

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

[silverscreencaps]

Belle de Jour (1967) dir. Luis Buñuel

[encyclizpedia]

“She was right, I reflected; she was more daughter than wife, whereas I had had it in me to be more wife than daughter. My expectations had not been fulfilled, but that was in the nature of an accident. Owen had come along and I had fallen in love with him. I had not known then that it is not necessary to marry every man one loves. I know it now.”

Anita Brookner, from “Brief Lives”

[alexalleshater]

Polaroid by Andrei Tarkovsky Lot 1 - Polaroid 6

[stephengogolev]

(the oedipus complex, antigone, and electra: the woman as hero and victim, dorothy willner)

[petaltexturedskies]

Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

[yama-bato]

via