Little Free One

Ramblings and Pretty Things

[xhba]

[littlefreeone]

[tremendousandsonorouswords]

I dreamed I was in a wood—somewhere far away from everybody,—and I was lying down and a great blackberry vine grew over me. And I called and called to you—and you wouldn’t come—you wouldn’t come—so I had to lie there for ever.

Katherine Mansfield, from “Six Years After”, in The Collected Stories (via tremendousandsonorouswords)

[wordsnquotes]

I want, by understanding myself, to understand others. I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.

Katherine Mansfield  (via wordsnquotes)

[thankunext121718]

Some women choose to follow men, and some women choose to follow their dreams. If you’re wondering which way to go, remember that your career will never wake up and tell you that it doesn’t love you anymore.

Lady Gaga (via uptownbackinit)

[unicorns-princess]

“..reality is too difficult.” - Lady Gaga

[librocity]

She was so lonely that she grew away from other people.

Wide Sargasso Sea 

Jean Rhys

(via librocity)

[wwnorton-deactivated20200424]

Today I must be very careful, today I have left my armor at home.

Jean Rhys, Good Morning Midnight (via wwnorton)

[wordsnquotes]

I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.

Jean Rhys (via wordsnquotes)

[lifeinpoetry]

Oh, God, I’m only twenty and I’ll have to go on living and living and living.

Jean Rhys, from Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography (via lifeinpoetry)

[wordsnquotes]

I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.

Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea (via wordsnquotes)

[therumpus]

Depression has a peculiar texture: sometimes, rather than sadness, it is an emotional flatline; the sneaking suspicion that you are play-acting. As though you have exited any kind of human form but are suddenly, in your daily life, forced to be a person again. Reading The Hours—in the sun, at the beach, chain-smoking menthol Royales—I felt, suddenly, less alone. Cunningham has a way of writing like threading glass beads along a string. Each sentence is taken to its furthest point, its poetic and occasionally overwrought conclusion. There is a freshness to it; it’s as though he is grasping for the beauty of very small things, plundering both memory and literary sentiment, folding the pang of shared emotion upon itself again.

The Last Book I Loved: The Hours by Larissa Pham (via therumpus)

[wordsnquotes]

She is, above all else, tired; she wants more than anything to return to her bed and her book. The world, this world, feels suddenly stunned and stunted, far from everything.

Michael Cunningham, The Hours (via wordsnquotes)

[littlefreeone]

It’s Christmas. And that means, it’s dark most of the time.

You are walking along a road peacefully. You trip. You fall into blackness. That’s the past – or perhaps the future. And you know that there is no past, no future, there is only blackness, changing faintly, slowly, but always the same.

‘You want to know what I’m afraid of? All right, I’ll tell you…I’m afraid of men – yes, I’m very much afraid of men. And I’m even more afraid of women. And I’m very much afraid of the whole bloody human race…Afraid of them?’ I say. ‘Of course I’m afraid of them. Who wouldn’t be afraid of a pack of damned hyenas?’

Thinking: ‘Oh, shut up. Stop it. What’s the use?’ But I can’t stop. I go on raving.

‘And when I say afraid – that’s just a word I use. What I really mean is that I hate them. I hate their voices. I hate their eyes, I hate the way they laugh…I hate the whole bloody business. It’s cruel, it’s idiotic, it’s unspeakably horrible. I never had the guts to kill myself or I’d have got out of it long ago. So much the worse for mme. Let’s leave it at that.’

[littlefreeone]

Jean Rhys

Then she had got up and looked at herself in the glass. She had let her nightgown slip down off her shoulders, and had a look at herself. She was tall and straight and slim and young – well, fairly young. She had taken up a strand of her hair and put her face against it and thought how she liked the smell and the feel of it. She had laughed at herself in the glass and her teeth were white and sound and even. Yes, she had laughed at herself in the glass. Like an idiot.

Then in the midst of her laughter she had noticed how pale her lips were; and she had thought: ‘My life’s like death. It’s like being buried alive. It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair.’

She could not stop crying. It had been as if something terribly strong were struggling within her, and tearing her in its struggles. And then she had thought: ‘If this goes on for another year I’m finished. I’ll be old and finished, and that’s that.

Of course, she had thought that sort of thing before. But always vaguely – and there had not been anything vague about the way she had thought last night.

[vein]

[verdictlessslife]

She’s funny. Really funny. I have a completely different laugh when she makes me laugh. She’s smart. But not the kind of smart that makes you feel intimidated, she’s the kind of smart that makes you want to learn things just to keep up a conversation with her. And she’s beautiful… Like so beautiful that you have to look up at the sky to make sure the world’s still turning - the kind of beautiful that makes you forget how to breathe. Yeah… I forgot how to breathe.

(via eastcoastbetty)