Inextricably Knotted

[quotespile]

Depression presents itself as a realism regarding the rottenness of the world in general and the rottenness of your life in particular. But the realism is merely a mask for depression’s actual essence, which is an overwhelming estrangement from humanity. The more persuaded you are of your unique access to the rottenness, the more afraid you become of engaging with the world; and the less you engage with the world, the more perfidiously happy-faced the rest of humanity seems for continuing to engage with it.

Jonathan Franzen, How to Be Alone (via quotespile)

[watchoutforintellect]

You are gone. I hibernated under the covers last night, not sleeping until dawn…You are gone.

Anne Sexton, from “Eighteen Days Without You” (December 1st) in The Complete Poems (via watchoutforintellect)

[minima--moralia]

—I’m beginning to have a feverish longing to see you again. You stand at the end of these weeks like a warm little light towards which I’m running as hard as I can.

Simone de Beauvoir, in a letter to Jean-Paul Sartre (via words-and-coffee)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

It shouldn’t hurt. It hurts.

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry featured in Passionate Apprentice: The Early Journals, 1897-1909 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[thelovejournals]

When you laugh, I want to transform the entire world so it will mirror you.

Vladimir Nabokov, Gods (via thelovejournals)

[mellifluousbookshelf]

T.S. Eliot and Virginia Woolf

[thequotejournals]

I want quiet thunder.

Charles Bukowski, The Pleasures Of The Damned (via thelovejournals)

[boysofbooks]

Had she really thought I would not know him? I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind; by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles (via boysofbooks)

[wordsnquotes]

When they ask you what your favorite moment is, you will say her. You will always say her.

Caitlyn Siehl, Her Her Her (via wordsnquotes)

[abstrae]

Feeling myself fall apart, decay, rot, and the laurels wither and fall away, and my past sins and omissions strike me with full punishment and import. All this, all this foul, gangrenous, sludge ate away at my insides. Silent, insidious.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via abstrae)

[criminalizemoney]

He wasn’t even sure he was alive, because he was living like a dead man.

Albert Camus ‘The Stranger’ (via theupsidown)

[breathe-of-midwinter-deactivate]

I exist.’ In thousands of agonies – I exist. I’m tormented on the rack – but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar – I exist! I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via breathe-of-midwinter)

[franzkavkas]

Robert Crumb’s illustration of the following:

“We will never live together, share the same apartment, body to body, be at the same table, never, not even in the same town…instead of living together, we’ll at least be able to lie down happily next to one another in order to die.”

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

[coalescences]

I write because I have nothing else to do in the world: I was left over and there is no place for me in the world of men. I write because I’m desperate and I’m tired, I can no longer bear the routine of being me and if not for the always novelty that is writing, I would die symbolically every day. But I am prepared to slip out discreetly through the back exit. I’ve experienced almost everything, including passion and its despair. And now I’d only like to have what I would have been and never was.

Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star (via coalescences)

[quotemadness]

I miss who I miss so badly that I do not care about anything.

Ernest Hemingway (via quotemadness)

[observando]

I’ve crossed some kind of invisible line. I feel as if I’ve come to a place I never thought I’d have to come to. And I don’t know how I got here. It’s a strange place. It’s a place where a little harmless dreaming and then some sleepy, early-morning talk has led me into considerations of death and annihilation.

Raymond Carver (via observando)

[southernsideofme-deactivated201]

[meganann-xo]

Same