lol

[primulaceas]

Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Prodigal Son." The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

[missinyouiskillingme]

Sometimes, being hurt too many times, doesn’t make you stronger, it destroy who you were, who you wanted to be and makes who you are today.

— Rafael Prado

[letterful]

“On March 28, 1941, Virginia Woolf loaded her pockets with stones and walked into the river Ouse. Her husband, Leonard Woolf, was obsessively punctilious, and had kept a journal every day of his adult life, in which he recorded daily menus and car mileage. Apparently, nothing was different on the day his wife committed suicide: he entered the mileage for his car. But on this day the paper is obscured by a smudge, writes his biographer, Victoria Glendinning, a brownish-yellow stain which has been rubbed or wiped. It could be tea or coffee or tears. The smudge is unique in all his years of neat diary-keeping.”

— JAMES WOOD, from How Fiction Works.

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— Thomas Hardy, from “Far From the Madding Crowd.”

[heartshop]

J28

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— Hanif Kureishi, from “The Buddha of Suburbia.”

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natasha trethewey

[lifeinpoetry]

“How many times I have looked / at the world and turned away.”

— Tarfia Faizullah, from “What I Want is Simple” published in Pen America

[theoptia]

Sophokles, from Elektra; translated by Anne Carson in An Oresteia

Text ID: I am already nothing. / I am already burning.

[feral-ballad]

Florence Welch, from Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry; “Maybe it would be fun”

[Text ID: “I tell myself I’m not like that any more / At least I thought I was less savage / I try, I try, I try, I try, I try to do less damage.”]

[cache-e]

“Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?”

Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath

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— Arabelle Sicardi, from “The Year in Ugliness.”

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— Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Frau Hanna Wolff c. January 1915

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— Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Book of Hours.”

[89words]

“Write to me in spite of my silence.”

— Albert Camus, letter to Jean Grenier (via desertssofvassteternity)

[feral-ballad]

Dulce María Loynaz, tr. by James O’Connor, from Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems

[Text ID: “I am not I. I am barely my own shadow.”]

[antigonick]

“This is my heart. Even if I can no longer use it … It’s my heart.”

— Naomi Kawase, from the screenplay Radiance (Comme des Cinéma & Kino Films, 2017)