“‘I have left behind illusions,’ I said to myself. ‘Henceforth I live in a world of three dimensions, with the aide of my five senses.’
I have since learned that there is no such world, but then, as the car turned out of sight of the house, I thought it took no finding, but lay all about me at the end of the avenue.”—
from Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh (via velvetcouch)
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with. Tell me why you loved them, then tell me why they loved you.
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word “home” means to you and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mothers name just by the way you describe your bedroom when you were 8.
See, I wanna know the first time you felt the weight of hate and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.
Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain or bounce in the bellies of snow? And if you were to build a snowman, would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms? Or would you leave the snowman armless for the sake of being harmless to the tree? And if you would, would you notice how that tree weeps for you because your snowman has no arms to hug you every time you kiss him on the cheek?
Do you kiss your friends on the cheek? Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad, even if it makes your lover mad?
… See, I wanna know what you think of your first name. And if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mothers joy when she spoke it for the very first time.
I want you tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind. Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel. Tell me knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant, where smoke stacks were filling the sky with dark, black clouds, would you holler, “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud or would whisper, “That cloud looks like a fish, and that cloud looks like a fairy”?
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin? Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea? And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me, how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
See, I wanna know if you believe in any god, or if you believe in many gods. Or better yet, what gods believe in you. And for all the times you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself, have the prayers you’ve asked come true? And if they didn’t did you feel denied? And if you felt denied, denied by who?
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good. I wanna know what you see in the mirror on a day a day you’re feeling bad. I wanna know the first person who ever taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass…
Have you ever been a song? …
Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence? …
See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living. I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving. And if you love yourself enough to also receive, sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes through other people’s wounds.
And if you dream sometimes that this life is just a balloon that if you wanted to you could pop but you never would because you’d never want it to stop.
… And lastly, let me ask you this: if you and I went for a walk, and the entire walk we didn’t talk, do you think eventually we’d kiss?…
“Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music and rhythm and grace and song and laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of the earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love love?”—Eugene O’Neill (via theorthodoxheretic)
In Aboriginal mythology there are beings called the Wondjina. They were rain spirits who were also involved with creation. They are said to come from the sky and paint pictures of themselves on cave walls.
At one point in time the Wondjina were angry at how people were behaving in the…
“But sometimes when I was starting a new story and I could not get it going, I would sit in front of the fire and squeeze the peel of the little oranges into the edge of the flame and watch the sputter of blue that they made. I would stand and look over the roofs of Paris and think, ‘Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to write is one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.’”—Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via lesmotsjustes)
“At the end of the street I saw the cathedral and walked up toward it. The first time I ever saw it I thought the facade was ugly but I liked it now. I went inside. It was dim and dark and the pillars went high up, and there were people praying, and it smelt of incense, and there were some wonderful big windows. I knelt and started to pray and prayed for everybody I thought of, Brett and Mike and Bill and Robert Cohn and myself, and all the bull-fighters, separately for the ones I liked, and lumping all the rest, then I prayed for myself again, and while I was praying for myself I found I was getting sleepy, so I prayed that the bull-fights would be good, and that it would be a fine fiesta, and that we would get some fishing. I wondered if there was anything else I might pray for, and I thought I would like to have some money, so I prayed that I would make a lot of money, and then I started to think how I would make it, and thinking of making money reminded me of the count, and I started wondering about where he was, and regretting I hadn’t seen him since that night in Montmartre, and about something funny Brett told me about him, and as all the time I was kneeling with my forehead on the wood in front of me, and was thinking of myself as praying, I was a little ashamed, and regretted that I was such a rotten Catholic, but realized there was nothing I could do about it, at least for a while, and maybe never, but that anyway it was a grand religion, and I only wished I felt religious and maybe I would the next time; and then I was out in the hot sun on the steps of the cathedral, and the forefingers and the thumb of my right hand were still damp, and I felt them dry in the sun. The sunlight was hot and hard, and I crossed over beside some buildings, and walked back along side-streets to the hotel.”—Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises
“There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.”—
Dear Tumblr people, please do not act like Facebook People. Your tumblr still does all the things it used to do, it will just take a little bit of adjusting. You are still posting away like crazy people, your life has not entirely ceased.