all art is quite useless
petrorhagia
beauty will save the world
to whom shall I hire myself
out? what beast should I adore? what holy image is attacked? what hearts shall I break? what lies shall I uphold?
out? what beast should I adore? what holy image is attacked? what hearts shall I break? what lies shall I uphold?
Without warning I had a vision of Francis – twenty years later, fifty years, in a wheelchair. And of myself – older, too, sitting around with him in some smoky room, the two of us repeating this exchange for the thousandth time. At one time I had liked the idea, that the act, at least, had bound us together; we were not ordinary friends, but friends till-death-do-us-part. This thought had been my only comfort in the aftermath of Bunny’s death. Now it made me sick, knowing there was no way out. I was stuck with them, with all of them, for good. - The Secret History by Donna Tartt
“The heart is a law to itself; if you try to bind it, you lose it; give it its liberty, and you make it your own.”— Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Emile, or On Education
“You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.”—
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
“[…]smelling of crushed daisies and sweat.”— Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (via lesgardenias)
Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Letters, 1902-1922
“My soul feels old, antiqued.”— The Lunar Earth Signs
womanhood and having a voyeuristic relationship with your own pain
“am i suffering beautifully?” “is my agony lovable?”