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Letters To Milena, Franz Kafka

Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, from The Selected Works; “Memoirs of Martynov,”

"It is entirely possible,” said Tomas, “that a female dog addressed continually by a male name will develop lesbian tendencies."

— Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

"How can we condemn something that is ephemeral, in transit? In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine." - Milan Kundera (The unbearable lightness of being)

#literature #milan kundera #the unbearable lightness of being #quotes #lit #books #philosophy #neitzsche #quoteoftheday #dark academia

Estelle: But we're going to --to hurt eachother. You said it yourself.

Inez: Do I look as if I wanted to hurt you?

Estelle: One can never tell.

Inez: Much more likely YOU'LL hurt ME. Still, what does it matter? If I've got to suffer, it may as well be at your hands, your pretty hands. Sit down. Come closer. Closer. Look into my eyes. What do you see?

#sarte #no exit #inez serrano #Estelle Rigault #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #philosophy #literature #existentialism #lesbianism #wlw post #theatre

trombint

You should all read No Exit by Jean-Paul Sartre because it’s good and because Inez is objectively the most powerful lesbian in fiction.

3verybodyhatesauggie

ah the 3 genders. misogynist, lesbian, and slut

lemongrablothbrok

The three people you meet in hell?

funeral

“Hell is other people” has always been misunderstood. It has been thought that what I meant by that was that our relations with other people are always poisoned, that they are invariably hellish relations. But what I really mean is something totally different. I mean that if relations with someone else are twisted, vitiated, then that other person can only be hell. Why? Because…when we think about ourselves, when we try to know ourselves,…we use the knowledge of us which other people already have. We judge ourselves with the means other people have and have given us for judging ourselves. Into whatever I say about myself someone else’s judgment always enters. Into whatever I feel within myself someone else’s judgment enters…But that does not at all mean that one cannot have relations with other people. It simply brings out the capital importance of all other people for each one of us.

Jean-Paul Sartre on the line “Hell is other people” in a talk that preceded a recording of his play “No Exit”, 1965

#no exit is criminally underrated #such a beautiful portrayal of hell and suffering #and our complex and tempestuous relationships to one another #how we cannot exist alone #but only in reference to another

theoptia

Simone de Beauvoir, from Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 1, 1926-27

Text ID: I observe how much I have matured since last year despite my belief that I was losing myself, how something strong was born from the painful experiences survived and from the numerous minutes that I believed were wasted.

#simone de beauvoir the woman you are

sourdough-seal

bingewatching will never come close to bingereading. there is nothing like blocking out the entire Earth for ten hours to read a book in one sitting no food no water no shower no bra and emerging at the end with no idea what time it is or where you are, a dried-up prune that's sensitive to light and loud noises because you've been in your room in the dark reading by the glow of a single LED. it's like coming back after a three-month vacation in another dimension and now you have to go downstairs and make dinner. absolutely transcendental

apoemaday

Crows

by Mary Oliver

It is January, and there are crows like black flowers on the snow. While I watch, they rise and float toward the frozen pond, they have seen some streak of death on the dark ice. They gather around it and consume everything, the strings and the red music of that nameless body. Then they shout, one hungry, blunt voice echoing another. It begins to rain. Later, it becomes February, and even later, spring returns, a chorus of thousands. They bow, and begin their important music. I recognize the oriole. I recognize the thrush, and the mockingbird. I recognize the business of summer, which is to forge ahead, delicately. So I dip my fingers among the green stems, delicately. I lounge at the edge of the leafing pond, delicately. I scarcely remember the crust of the snow. I scarcely remember the icy dawns and the sun like a lamp without a fuse. I don’t remember the fury of loneliness. I never felt the wind’s drift. I never heard of the struggle between anything and nothing. I never saw the flapping, blood-gulping crows.

#winter does not last forever #soon all the unrest and fear will be nothing but memories

whenever I feel cold and empty and cruel, I take a deep breath, have a warm cup of tea, read some mary oliver, and life becomes beautiful again.