pétalos

[victoriajoan]

Why should I tell you anything true? Why should I tell you anything?

Margaret Atwood, from The Door  

[chaya-k-deactivated20190201]

Linen shirt / scraps

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

And my heart, where have I wasted it?

Frédéric Chopin, from a letter.

[doopliss]

"I have a cough" and "I am about to sneeze" Graphite and china marker on vellum, 22”x34” May 29, 2008

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I’m not tragic these days, I don’t weep, but I feel alone, bewildered, far from you, far from everything — nothing has any meaning.

Simone de Beauvoir, from Letters To Sartre 

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

There had been too much emotion, too much damage, too much everything.

Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden Of Eden

[theunquotables]

I want so much that is not here and do not know where to go.

Charles Bukowski, The Dogs of Egypt 

[invisiblestories]

Thus I spoke, more and more softly; for I was afraid of my own thoughts and the thoughts behind my thoughts.

Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

A hail of nervousness pours down upon me continuously. What I want one minute I don’t want the next.

Franz Kafka, from Letters To Felice 

[larmoyante]

I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.

Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters 

[larmoyante]

It was hard to feel the right emotions at the right times. They didn’t come at all when you set a place for them, and they sacked when you weren’t ready, when you were just innocently flossing your teeth, for example, or eating a bowl of cereal.

Ann Brashares, The Last Summer (Of You and Me)

[literarymiscellany]

More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve.

Margaret Atwood, from More And More 

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything anymore.

Franz Wright, from a letter to Alfred A. Knopf 

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Forget everything. Open the windows. Clear the room. The wind blows through it. You see only its emptiness, you search in every corner and don’t find yourself.

Franz Kafka, from Diaries  

[othersashas]

I don’t know what’s the matter with me, why I’m so adept at distance, why I feel so remote from things, why life feels like a rumor.

David Shields, How Literature Saved My Life 

[cross-eyed-mary]

I find that the only way to get through life is to picture myself in an entirely disconnected reality.

Oliver Tate (Submarine, 2010)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

We must resist. We must refuse to disappear.

Margaret Atwood, from Roominghouse, Winter