Il y a donc un quelque chose qui détruit ma pensée ; un quelque chose qui ne m’empêche pas d’être ce que je pourrais être, mais qui me laisse, si je puis dire, en suspens.
Antonin Artaud, Correspondance avec Jacques Rivière (via belluas)

Le Vent Nous Portera | Sophie Hunger 

(Source: firatyan)


“Once you are awake, you shall remain awake eternally.”

—F. Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra: Part Three, “The Convalescent,” §1 (excerpt).


Koop Island Blues | Koop


by Franz Kafka
I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out — but you can’t prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I’m certain you hear mine.
Jean-Paul Sartre, from No Exit, in No Exit and Three Other Plays (vintage, 1989)  (via apoetreflects)

(Source: fables-of-the-reconstruction, via apoetreflects)

I couldn’t stand the ordinariness of life. I couldn’t stand family life. I couldn’t stand job life. I couldn’t stand anything I looked at. I just decided I either had to starve, make it, go mad, come through or do something. Even if I hadn’t made it on writing… I could not do the eight-to-five. I would have been a suicide, something. Something, I’m sorry. I could not accept the snail’s pace, eight-to-five, Johnny Carson, Happy Birthday, Christmas, New Year…to me this is the sickest of all sick things.
Charles Bukowski, from The Bukowski Tapes (via litafficionado)
Et à la fin de tout, on s’aperçoit que personne n’est capable réellement de penser à personne, fût-ce dans le pire des malheurs. Car penser réellement à quelqu’un, c’est y penser minute après minute, sans être distrait par rien, ni les soins du ménage, ni la mouche qui vole, ni les repas, ni une démangeaison. Mais il y a toujours des mouches et des démangeaisons. C’est pourquoi la vie est difficile à vivre.
Albert Camus, La peste 

Janet Malcolm — Abyss, from the Emily Dickinson Series, 2013 (detail)


Grouper - Come Softly

Do not look for my heart any more; the beasts have eaten it.
Charles Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil, (1857)

(Source: steelylaceribbon, via purveyor-of-fine-whines)


Lana Del Rey - Once Upon a Dream

(Source: dopegaga)


Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye
Aucune grâce extérieure n’est complète si la beauté intérieure ne la vivifie. La beauté de l’âme se répand comme une lumière mystérieuse sur la beauté du corps.
Victor Hugo, Post-scriptum de ma vie (via regardintemporel)
In every man’s remembrances there are things he will not reveal to everybody, but only to his friends. There are other things he will not reveal even to his friends, but only to himself, and then only under a pledge of secrecy. Finally, there are some things that a man is afraid to reveal even to himself, and any honest man accumulates a pretty fair number of such things.
Notes From UndergroundFyodor Dostoyevsky (via neonkhanate)