the child grows enormous but never grows up
Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers.
Margaret Atwood, from “Homelanding” (via weissewiese)
tomesandtalismans:

“Moans of approaching death” being where the real action is.

tomesandtalismans:

“Moans of approaching death” being where the real action is.

It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
Jack Kerouac

dudleyworl:

Friday I’m In Love (cover) | Tom Rosenthal

explodingdog:

Crazy Monster in love.

explodingdog:

Crazy Monster in love.

To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.

Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (via cenizas)

to be loved?

All reality is iconoclastic. The earthly beloved, even in this life, incessantly triumphs over your mere idea of her. And you want her to; you want her with all her resistances, all her faults, all her unexpectedness. That is, in her foursquare and independent reality. And this, not any image or memory, is what we are to love still, after she is dead.
C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
minutelovestories:

While his wife, Mougouch, vacationed in Castile, Maine for the summer of 1947, Arshile Gorky stayed on in the city to paint in his Union Square studio. This is one of the last letters he wrote to her that summer, excerpted from the biography, From a High Place: A Life of Arshile Gorky.

minutelovestories:

While his wife, Mougouch, vacationed in Castile, Maine for the summer of 1947, Arshile Gorky stayed on in the city to paint in his Union Square studio. This is one of the last letters he wrote to her that summer, excerpted from the biography, From a High Place: A Life of Arshile Gorky.

We wear masks, and with practice we do it better and better, and they serve us well—except that it gets very lonely inside the mask, because inside the mask that each of us wears there is a person who both longs to be known and fears to be known… The paradox is that part of what binds us closest together as human beings and makes it true that no man is an island is the knowledge that in another way every man is an island. Because to know this is to know that not only deep in you is there a self that longs above all to be known and accepted but that there is also such a self in me, in everyone else the world over. So when we meet as strangers, when even friends look like strangers, it is good to remember that we need each other greatly you and I, more than much of the time we dare to imagine, more than most of the time we dare to admit.
Frederick Buechner, The Hungering Dark (via hollandmatt)
What he says aloud is understandable, but it’s not the marvelous part. The marvelous part is the way Joyce’s face looks when he talks about what tennis means to him. He loves it; you can see this in his face when he talks about it: his eyes normally have a kind of Asiatic cast because of the slight epicanthic fold common to ethnic Irishmen, but when he speaks of tennis and his career the eyes get round and the pupils dilate and the look in them is one of love. The love is not the love one feels for a job or a lover or any of the loci of intensity that most of us choose to say we love. It’s the sort of love you see in the eyes of really old people who’ve been happily married for an incredibly long time, or in religious people who are so religious they’ve devoted their lives to religious stuff: it’s the sort of love whose measure is what it has cost, what one’s given up for it. Whether there’s ‘choice’ involved is, at a certain point, of no interest … since it’s the very surrender of choice and self that informs the love in the first place.
David Foster Wallace, in footnote #24 of “Tennis Player Michael Joyce’s Professional Artistry as a Paradigm of Certain Stuff About Choice, Freedom, Limitation, Joy, Grotesquerie, and Human Completeness.” (via ecantwell)