Stolen Word

[enjoy-the-life-baby]

[nevver]

It’s a trap

[infpisme]

[stolenword]

Holy Spring

Out of a bed of love When that immortal hospital made one more moove to soothe The curless counted body, And ruin and his causes Over the barbed and shooting sea assumed an army And swept into our wounds and houses, I climb to greet the war in which I have no heart but only That one dark I owe my light, Call for confessor and wiser mirror but there is none To glow after the god stoning night And I am struck as lonely as a holy marker by the sun. No Praise that the spring time is all Gabriel and radiant shrubbery as the morning grows joyful Out of the woebegone pyre And the multitude's sultry tear turns cool on the weeping wall, My arising prodgidal Sun the father his quiver full of the infants of pure fire, But blessed be hail and upheaval That uncalm still it is sure alone to stand and sing Alone in the husk of man's home And the mother and toppling house of the holy spring, If only for a last time.

- Dylan Thomas

[stolenword]

[nevver]

What you want

[stolenword]

I hate to love you but...

A love song could never define you.

Your words are like whispers of smoke that escape your mouth and disappear, forgotten before they are said. Your tongue could twist circles round mine while our eyes dart for narrow escapes, so you can take me under the moon. It's so taboo. Me and you. She loves you and you....love you. But I am solitary yours. In my heart. But please, understand this, I am not your normal girl. I will wrap legs around those who make me feel whole in your absence. This until I know I have your heart as well. For then, I would kill a million memories for the only ones with you. Forget the past, which street I grew up on. Hell, I'll even forget my name. I would be yours undying love, without borders or boundaries or limitations. But remember my legs till your heart cracks wide enough for me to fall in.

[stolenword]

“Love is like a narcotic. At first it brings the euphoria of complete surrender. The next day, you want more. You’re not addicted yet, but you like the sensation, and you think you can still control things. You think about the person you love for two minutes, and forget them for three hours. But then you get used to that person, and you begin to be completely dependent on them. Now you think about him for three hours and forget him for two minutes. If he’s not there, you feel like an addict who can’t get a fix. And just as addicts steal and humiliate themselves to get what they need, you’re willing to do anything for love.” ― Paulo Coelho, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept

[stolenword]

Insomnia holds no prisoners 

[nevver]

Bukowski

[larmoyante]

A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself.

Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf (via larmoyante)

[explore-blog]

The vast body of literature, in every domain, is composed of hand-me-down ideas. The question — never resolved, alas! — is to what extent it would be efficacious to curtail the overwhelming supply of cheap fodder. One thing is certain today — the illiterate are definitely not the least intelligent among us. If it be knowledge or wisdom one is seeking, then one had better go direct to the source. And the source is not the scholar or philosopher, not the master, saint, or teacher, but life itself — direct experience of life. The same is true for art. Here, too, we can dispense with ‘the masters.’

Henry Miller on books and reading (via explore-blog)

[yungbratz-88]

[stolenword]

The Mirror,Andrei Tarkovsky

[bitterangst]

[somethingtoseeorhear]

[stolenword]

Word..

[fuckyeahexistentialism]

We are seeking only the precise meaning that our consciousness gives to this word ” exist,” and we find that, for a conscious being, to exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.

Henri Bergson / Creative Evolution (via penseesduchoeur)

[explore-blog]

The original handwritten manuscript of The Great Gatsby, from Princeton’s newly digitized archive of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s manuscripts.

Pair with Fitzgerald on the secret of great writing.

(↬ Open Culture)