[feral-ballad]

Then it comes to me: Yes I’ll die, so will everyone, so has everyone. It’s what we have in common. And for a moment, the sorrow ceased, and I saw that it hadn’t been sorrow after all, but loneliness,

Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “October”

[litafficionado]

Suîto ritoru raizu/Sweet Little Lies(2010) dir. Hitoshi Yazaki

[shebitesgodinthewrist]

“I sleep more and more and in my dreams God says, You’re done for and It only gets worse.”

-Lynn Crosbie, “No Evil Star”, from The Corpses of the Future

[quotespile]

“I wanted to believe; indeed I longed to; and, in the end, how much of belief comes from longing?”

— Margaret Atwood, The Testaments

[cruellheaven]

“And, I understand, / the stars in the sky are already dead.”

— Nicole Sealey, from “medical history,” Ordinary Beast (via lifeinpoetry)

[maryolive]

Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente

[metamorphesque]

Han Kang | The Vegetarian | tr. Deborah Smith

[tinyghosts]

“There is so little to remember of anyone - an anecdote, a conversation at a table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming habitual fondness not having meant to keep us waiting long.”

— Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping (via quotespile)

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“I only love what finds me invisible and touches me deeply.”

— I Must Be Living Twice, ‘Whax ‘N Wayne’ by Eileen Myles

[moonandnightss]

— Mary Oliver, Entering the Kingdom

[woodsia]

Gucci Fall 2019

[longing-poet]

Donna Tartt, The Secret History

[saara138]

drawing with thread instead of pen today 

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“Another kind of hurt lodged / where happiness had smouldered, another kind / of ruin, and summer came.”

— Marie Howe, from “The Wise Men,” The Good Thief (Persea, 1988)

[rabbitinthemoon-blog]

“I’m full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry.”

— Ernest Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro

[bnmxfld]

“All I have to offer you is everything in me.”

— William Chapman

[thoodleoo]

sorry im late, i started thinking about history and the bittersweet beauty of the fact that people from thousands of years ago are so similar to people today and i had to lie down on the floor for a while