yes, and

"Make your own Bible. Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of a trumpet." — Ralph Waldo Emerson

[bekanicolex]

[purplebuddhaproject]

If you can’t forgive and forget, pick one.

Robert Brault (via purplebuddhaproject)

[lifeinpoetry]

To guide someone through the halls of hell is not the same as love.

Gregory Orr, from Orpheus & Eurydice: A Lyric Sequence (via lifeinpoetry)

[the-real-eye-to-see]

[triggertrain1]

***

[slyherin]

Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (via slyherin)

[novr-deactivated20190712]

[sedgewina]

hamilton is amazing and George III’s leitmotif is daydream believer.

[theglasschild]

I have accepted fear as part of life – specifically the fear of change… I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back….

Erica Jong (via theglasschild)

[photojojo]

You may remember those marquees on main street that used to announce everything from movie releases to local engagements, but these days you’re more likely to find billboards and neon signs. 

Photographer Victoria Crayhon traveled the country with a supply of sign letters and created these clever installations for a series called Thoughts on Romance From the Road.

Photographer Creates Clever Installations on Old Marquees

via Slate

[of-earthandlight]

[fleurishes]

Last night I dreamed my hands smelled like roses and everywhere I put them–car windshields, your mouth, dumpsters mangled by rust–gardens. What did we ever do without music? I don’t think I’m saying anything too offensive but just you wait. Someone is coming with a pitchfork and matchsticks to burn me alive. The worst thing I’ve ever thought was about my mother and it was I hope you die. I wanted it so bad that the sky cracked open and it rained for a week. Mom, I’m sorry. Mom, I love you. It’s scary when you’re fourteen and you want perfect skin and boys don’t know how to touch you in the dark and you think that no one, especially your mother, understands. The fourteen year old in me is still trying to catch up. Somewhere in this poem there is a list of people that I want to meet but never will. I think that I will always be unlucky in love but my friends, oh my god, they’re fabulous. At least there’s that. At least there’s this.

Kristina Haynes, “At Least There’s This” (via fleurishes)

[uchinaguchi]

In this world, we must love the liars or go unloved.

Sherman Alexie, from “Idolatry”, a short story published in Blasphemy (via the-final-sentence)

[butthorn]

[vrban]

You remember too much,
 my mother said to me recently.
 Why hold onto all that? And I said,
 Where do I put it down?

Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay”  (via blurrymelancholy)

[lifeinpoetry]

this ache           this trembling ache haunts me endlessly like you.

Joy Harjo, from “Nandia,” She Had Some Horses: Poems (via lifeinpoetry)

[wordsnquotes]

Personally, I’m a mess of conflicting impulses—I’m independent and greedy and I also want to belong and share and be a part of the whole. I doubt that I’m the only one who feels this way. It’s the core of monster making, actually. Wanna make a monster? Take the parts of yourself that make you uncomfortable—your weaknesses, bad thoughts, vanities, and hungers—and pretend they’re across the room. It’s too ugly to be human. It’s too ugly to be you. Children are afraid of the dark because they have nothing real to work with. Adults are afraid of themselves. Oh we’re a mess, poor humans, poor flesh—hybrids of angels and animals, dolls with diamonds stuffed inside them. We’ve been to the moon and we’re still fighting over Jerusalem. Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet. I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly, I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper.

Richard Siken, Spork Editor’s Pages: Black Telephone (via autobibliography)