peripeteia

No matter how much you feed the wolf, he keeps looking at the forest.

[kyrieelyse]

Nina Simone - Live in Montreux 1976

[theparisreview]

“I wouldn’t be the person I am, I wouldn’t understand what I understand, were it not for certain books … A novel worth reading is an education of the heart. It enlarges your sense of human possibility, of what human nature is, of what happens in the world.” —Susan Sontag, born on this day in 1933. Read her Art of Fiction interview here.

[explore-blog]

I know now not to measure my insides against others’ outsides. Oh, how I wish I had known that at age twelve—but does any child?

Wonderful short interview with Dani Shapiro, a remarkable writer and beautiful mind. (via explore-blog)

[kyrieelyse]

But besides that I was of an unforgiving disposition from my birth, slow to take offense, slower to forget it, and now incensed both against my companion and myself.

Kidnapped

[kyrieelyse]

Sometimes I think: I am older than this tree, older than this bench, older than the rain. And yet. I'm not older than the rain. It's been falling for years and after I go it will keep on falling.

Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

[strawberryblondefilms]

[nevver]

On this day, 1955.

[nevver]

Hot Singles are in Your Area

[kyrieelyse]

Hot singles stick around but the damage is done!

[markmcevoy]

Bartleby

[bookmania]

The thing about me and books is that whichever one I’m reading always reminds me of whatever’s happening in my life during that time.

Lauren Barnholdt, The Thing About the Truth (via bookmania)

[kyrieelyse]

But there’s a less obvious yet surprisingly powerful explanation for introverts’ creative advantage—an explanation that everyone can learn from: introverts prefer to work independently, and solitude can be a catalyst to innovation. As the influential psychologist Hans Eysenck once observed, introversion “concentrates the mind on the tasks in hand, and prevents the dissipation of energy on social and sexual matters unrelated to work.” In other words, if you’re in the backyard sitting under a tree while everyone else is clinking glasses on the patio, you’re more likely to have an apple fall on your head. Newton was one of the world’s great introverts. William Wordsworth described him as “A mind forever / Voyaging through strange seas of Thought alone.”

Susan Cain

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking

[traceloops]

[sdrawkcabkool]

[misswallflower]

Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.

Susan Sontag (via artistsuffer)

pay attention

[nevver]

Kurt McRobert

[kyrieelyse]

There's something mystical about baseball. Some wholesome and gleaming quality that makes it as much myth as game. I watch it because it soothes and comforts, it bedazzles and bewitches. When a player steps up to the plate with a bat in his hand he ceases to be a man. He becomes the embodiment of hope. He becomes a magickal force capable of battling sickness and black despair. When someone knocks a ball over that back wall you can make a wish on it like a shooting star. A man who swings that bat becomes a force of nature, an act of divine intervention. He punches a hole through the darkness and reminds us that miracles have not vanished entirely. He is a sibyl in a sport jersey, a conduit through which all that is good shines its light.

Damien Echols

[kyrieelyse]

How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn't they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?

Don DeLillo, White Noise