June 2012
2 posts
endurance [ɪnˈdjʊərəns]
n
1. the capacity, state, or an instance of enduring
2. something endured; a hardship, strain, or privation
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May 2012
3 posts
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When we were separated at 15, I said I would never...
Mr. Nobody (2009, Jaco Van Dormael)
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"When it's gone, you'll know what a gift love was....
Ian McEwan (Enduring Love)
April 2012
7 posts
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I felt like lying down by the side of the trail...
- Jack Kerouac (Dharma Bums)
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I've done everything I wanted to do, writing...
- Simone de Beauvoir
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People tell me it's a sin to know and feel too...
- Bob Dylan (Simple Twist of Fate)
March 2012
1 post
December 2011
6 posts
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Le commencement et le déclin de l’amour se font sentir par l’embarras où l’on est de se trouver seuls. The beginning and the end of love are both marked by embarrassment when the two find themselves alone. — La Bruyère—Les Caractères. IV
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When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow— It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. They...
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Scotty Trails Madeline by Bernard Hermann...
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I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free. — Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar)
November 2011
8 posts
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A few times in my life I’ve had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that...
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iferalchild asked: Virginia Woolf's note to her husband has to be the saddest most beautiful love note ever. I'll have to reblog it. Thank you for sharing!
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In your arms was still delight, Quiet as a street at night; And thoughts of you, I do remember, Were green leaves in a darkened chamber, Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
— Rupert Brooke (Retrospect)
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October 2011
1 post
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August 2011
20 posts
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Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could...
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Perfidia by Xavier Cugat
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Sex is kicking death in the ass while singing.
— Charles Bukowski
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I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with...
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anything is a waste of time unless you are fucking well or creating well or getting well or looming toward a kind of phantom love-happiness. we will all end up in the crud-pot of defeat (…) — Charles Bukowski (extract from Another Horse Story)
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Suicides? Heart attacks? The papers didn’t seem interested. The world was full of ways to die, too many to cover. Newsworthy deaths had to be exceptional. Most people go unobserved. — Haruki Murakami (Dance, Dance, Dance)
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I don’t trust or love anyone. Because people are so creepy. Creepy creepy creeps. Creeping around. Creeping here and creeping there. Creeping everywhere. Crippity crappity creepies.
— Vincent Gallo
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He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had the independent air of an American—a combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange flowers in their buttonholes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches. — Louisa May...
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He would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was—a woman. — Washington Irving (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow)
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’T is just like a summer bird-cage in a garden,—the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out.
— John Webster (The White Devil)
June 2011
17 posts
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Sandpaper Kisses by Martina Topley-Bird (Quixotic)