strandbooks:

More from The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino, page 195.
This times a million.

strandbooks:

More from The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino, page 195.

This times a million.

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Nearly all that I loved I believed to be imaginary; nearly all that I believed to be real I thought grim and meaningless. C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy (via theredshoes)
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How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself. Virginia Woolf (via thecommonplacequotebook)
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Now every mortal has pain
and sweat is constant,
but if there is anything dearer than being alive,
it’s dark to me.
We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing
(whatever it is) that glitters on the earth—
we call it life. We know no other.
The underworld’s a blank
and all the rest just fantasy.
Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays (via elucipher)

(Source: quotes-shape-us)

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ghoulnextdoor:

image: The Freud Museum ~  Laurie Lipton, The Haunted House 
"I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny movements inside."  —        Shirley Jackson       	  (The Haunting of Hill House)

ghoulnextdoor:

image: The Freud Museum ~  Laurie Lipton, The Haunted House

"I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny movements inside."
— Shirley Jackson (The Haunting of Hill House)

Cite Arrow reblogged from ghoulnextdoor
The best remedy for a bruised heart is not, as so many people seem to think, repose upon a manly bosom. Much more efficacious are honest work, physical activity, and the sudden acquisition of wealth. After being acquited of murdering her lover, and, indeed, in consequence of that acquital, Harriet Vane found all three specifics abundantly at her disposal; and although Lord Peter Wimsey, with a touching faith in tradition, persisted day in and day out in presenting the bosom for her approval, she showed no inclination to recline upon it. Dorothy L. Sayers, Have His Carcase (via gornishka)
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(Iris Murdoch’s) writing is always lucid and poised and fluid. Her prose reminds me of water: always propelled by the greatest energy, connecting with itself in dozens of different ways, absolutely clear and reffortless: resonating not with a boom but a tinkle. That kind of flow can move rock more powerfully than dynamite. Stephen Fry, Paperweight
The longer I live, the more I love Forster. Stephen Fry: E. M. Forster “Aspects of the Novel” 
Cite Arrow reblogged from stephen-fry-me
Apocalypse,” Sontag writes, “is now a long-running serial: not ‘Apocalypse Now’ but ‘Apocalypse From Now On.’ Apocalypse has become an event that is happening and not happening. Susan Sontag, quoted by Eula Biss in On Immunity: An Inoculation