wallow with me

♡ infj | writer | vampire ♡

[literarymay]

The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

- Fernando Pessoa

[sunbeamdaydreams-deactivated202]

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating.”

—

Ariel by Sylvia Plath

[literarymay]

"𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝, 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 —  𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚙 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐?"

- Book Ten, The Odyssey

.

[literarymay]

I suppose we were in pursuit of a reconciliation with the universe, at an age when it’s certain the universe, as much as reconciliation, will never amount to anything more than empty ambitions, virtual maps, animals gone extinct. Dreams. But we were both stubborn. We both had that absurd, almost religious need to transcend our own situation.

- The Illiac Crest

[literarymay]

𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝐼 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡, 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑏.

𝐼𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓, 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒? 𝐼𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑜, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑙, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛. 𝐴 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛.

𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠. 𝑂𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛, 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑, 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ. 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠?

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚, 𝑖𝑡 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑤 𝑟𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

- M

[literarymay]

“I've come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.”

Sense and Sensibility (1995)

[literarymay]

𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧, 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 , 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 -

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨, 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲, 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬.

- Rᴀɪɴᴇʀ Mᴀʀɪᴀ Rɪʟᴋᴇ

[literarymay]

𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬,

𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐁. 𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲.

[literarymay]

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝.

[literarymay]

" 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭."

Art: Jessica Roux

[literarymay]

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒓, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

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𝑰𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈.

- Friedrich Nietzsche

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𝑩𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔: 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒑, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝑰𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝒔𝒐 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒕. 𝑰 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓: 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈!

- Rainer Maria Rilke

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Flapping crows. Shiny beetles crawling in the undergrowth. A patch of sky, frozen in a cloudy retina, reflected in a puddle on the ground. Yoo-hoo. Being and nothingness.

- Donna Tartt

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𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

- 𝑭𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝑷𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕

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𝘐𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

- Aʟʙᴇʀᴛ Cᴀᴍᴜs, Tʜᴇ Mʏᴛʜ ᴏғ Sɪsʏᴘʜᴜs ᴀɴᴅ Oᴛʜᴇʀ Essᴀʏs

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“𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨-𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺.”

- 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖧𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒, 𝖣𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖳𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗍

ᶜʳᵉᵈⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵃʳᵗⁱˢᵗ