[philosophybits]

“The suffering itself is not so bad; it’s the resentment against suffering that is the real pain.”

— Allen Ginsberg, “Kerouac’s Ethic”, Un Homme Grand

[metamorphesque]

“Aside from myself, there was no sign of me.” ― Nicole Krauss

1.Rumi | 2.Holly Warburton | 3.Maggie Stiefvater | 4.Fyodor Dostoyevsky | 5.Nickie Zimov | 6.Clarice Lispector | 7.Nigel Van Wieck | 8.Georgia O’Keeffe | 9.Andrew Wyeth | 10.Mary Oliver | 11.Ilenia Tesoro | 12.Sylvia Plath | 13.Walt Whitman | 14.Nickie Zimov | 15.Jean-Paul Sartre | 16.Lydia Roberts | 17.Natalie Wee | 18.Lew Thomas | 19.Albert Camus

[thoughtkick]

“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

— Paulo Coelho

[lovewillbreakyourheartforever]

Simone Weil, First and Last Notebooks, trans. Richard Rees

[thefugitivesaint]

Abdur Rahman Chughtai (1894-1975), ‘Untitled’, (Year ?) Source

[ndiecity-deactivated20241101]

"this would kill a medieval peasant" yeah and a halberd or the black plague would kill you too so stay humble

[thoughtkick]

“Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”

— Marcus Aurelius

[thatbohemiangirl]

My Bohemian History

Cléo de Mérode - c. 1900

[beyond-the-pale-deactivated2023]

Víctor Clemente  -  There’s something in the water.

[ryebreadgf]

A country house in Norfolk that exudes comfortable charm

[nontemporary]

[devon-aoki]

the angelic frequencies this photo is emitting 😳

[peoplehood-deactivated20211003]

Yang Qingxiang, I Thought This Would Be My Life

[nevver]

Matt McCormick

[tomicher]

Georgia, Kutaisi, December 2013

[geritsel]

Yoshijiro Urushibara after Frank Brangwyn - Color woodcuts from the portfolio Bruges, ca 1919.

[firstfullmoon]

Day after day this summer’s rain keeps them from setting up our tombstone let us stay home together my love and not know as the rain does not know where it came from and the sea that is all around us does not know its beginning

— W. S. Merwin, “In the Meantime”

[endless-unfolding]

And then there was only this story. It followed me home

and entered my house— a difficult guest with a single tune

which it hums all day and through the night— slowly or briskly, it doesn’t matter,

it sounds like a river leaping and falling; it sounds like a body falling apart.

—Mary Oliver, from “Night and the River,” Red Bird (Beacon Press, 2008)