likeafieldmouse: Read Rainy Weather in its entirety here.

likeafieldmouse:

Read Rainy Weather in its entirety here.

I don’t admit to being hopeless, though: only the spectacle is a profoundly strange one; and as the current answers don’t do, one has to grope for a new one, and the process of discarding the old, when one is by no means certain what to put in their place, is a sad one.

― Virginia Woolf

Your battles inspired me - not the obvious material battles but those that were fought and won behind your forehead.

― James Joyce

I’ve had it with all stingy-hearted sons of bitches.
A heart is to be spent.

― Stephen Dunn, Sixty

We are sun and moon, dear friend; we are sea and land. It is not our purpose to become each other; it is to recognize each other, to learn to see the other and honor him for what he is: each the other’s opposite and complement.

― Hermann Hesse

Who would I show it to

― W. S. Merwin, Elegy

The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.

― Nikos Kazantzakis

(Source: hellanne)

You’ve tried the rest.
You’ve waited long enough.
Everything catches up with you.

And you’re too old,
or too young.
Or you don’t have the money

or you don’t have the time.
Maybe you’re shy, and maybe
you’re just afraid.

How often have you heard it,
have you promised
yourself you’d try

something really different
if you had the chance?
Though you can’t help but wonder

if all those people
know what they’re doing, now
you’re saying it with them:

Eventually everything
catches up with us,
and it starts to show.

We’ve waited all our lives, or as long
as we can remember, whichever
is long enough.

― Lawrence Raab, The Rest

Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half may reach you.

― Kahlil Gibran

And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
And she forgot the blue above the trees,
And she forgot the dells where waters run,
And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze;
She had no knowledge when the day was done,
And the new morn she saw not: but in peace
Hung over her sweet Basil evermore,
And moisten’d it with tears unto the core.

― John Keats, Isabella; or, the Pot of Basil (LIII)

I think too much. I think ahead. I think behind. I think sideways. I think it all. If it exists, I’ve fucking thought of it.

― Winona Ryder

There was no God in his heart, he knew; his ideas were still in riot; there was ever the pain of memory; the regret for his lost youth — yet the waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul, responsibility and a love of life, the faint stirring of old ambitions and unrealized dreams…

And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while, why he had determined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from the personalities he had passed…

He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.

“I know myself,” he cried, “but that is all.”

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise