by Edward Gorey
(Source: cchatoyantt, via printed-ink)
Poe, “The Philosophy of Composition” 1846
(Source: invisiblestories, via printed-ink)
Don’t cling to things, because everything is impermanent.
—Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie (via bookmania)
suggested by telltaleheartss
Le Misanthrope, Molière.
(Source: wycherley, via printed-ink)
Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything it is because we are dangerously near to wanting nothing. There are two opposing poles of wanting nothing: When one is so full and rich and has so many inner worlds that the outer world is not necessary for joy, because joy emanates from the inner core of one’s being. When one is dead and rotten inside and there is nothing in the world: not all the woman, food, sun or mind-magic of others can reach the wormy core of one’s gutted soul planet.
—Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath (via bookmania)
Sharing Poetry: Lewis Carroll, "Dreamland"
When midnight mists are creeping,
And all the land is sleeping,
Around me tread the mighty dead,
And slowly pass away.
Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,
From out the vanished ages,
With solemn pace and reverend face
Appear and pass away.
The blaze of noonday splendour,
The twilight soft…
I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of the throat and I’d cry for a week.
—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via bookmania)
“A bed of moss was granted,
she laid down with a sigh,
Embraced by the green blankets
she kissed the world goodbye.”
