> Let's vanish in the air
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aseaofquotes:

John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman
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metaphorformetaphor:

“If you’re happy in a dream, Ammu, does that count?” Estha asked.
“Does what count?”
“The happiness—does it count?”

— Arundhati RoyThe God of Small Things. Random House, 1997

(Source: rabbrakha)

erikahuffman:

© 2013 Erika Huffman
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"…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools."
- William Faulkner, from The Sound And The Fury (via ontheedgeofdarkness)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via ontheedgeofdarkness)

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sirkahiltner:


A vacation is having nothing to doand all day to do it in.~ Robert Orben
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noir-d-amour:

by Giusy
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"It is well sometimes to half understand a poem in the same manner that we half understand the world. One of the deepest and strangest of all human moods is the mood which will suddenly strike us perhaps in a garden at night, or deep in sloping meadows, the feeling that every flower and leaf has just uttered something stupendously direct and important, and that we have by a prodigy of imbecility not heard or understood it. There is a certain poetic value, and that a genuine one, in this sense of having missed the full meaning of things. There is beauty, not only in wisdom, but in this dazed and dramatic ignorance."
- G. K. Chesterton, “Robert Browning” (via litverve)

(Source: gutenberg.org, via litverve)

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bainer:

Bill Evans in his New York City apartment in the early 1960s (photo by Chuck Stewart)
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Drinks at Dusk by Jo Hammond
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aseaofquotes:

Paulo Coelho, By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept
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metaphorformetaphor:

In your hands, all you’ve lost,
all you’ve touched.
In the angle of your head,
every vow and
broken vow.  In your skin,
every time you were disregarded,
every time you were received.
Sundered, drowsed.  A seeded field,
mossy cleft, tidal pool, milky stem.
The branch that’s released when the bird lifts
or lands.  In a summer kitchen.
On a white winter morning, sunlight across the bed.

—Anne Michaels, from “Last Night’s Moon” in Skin Divers. Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, 1999

5pts:

The best things in life are free
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5pts:

Untitled 289
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