There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that...– Edith Wharton (via proustitute)
New Steven Wilson solo album teaser is up. I am extremely excited for it’s release. That man can do no wrong.
I felt so empty as I cried, like part of me had died
Ya casi me voy Donde estaras, en la mananita? Quando el sol no te puede ver Quando las estrellas lloran luz, calladistas y devil, por el tiempo que te pierdo Y cuando el dios sin milagro te parese enfrente de ti Mi amigo viejo, amado, perdido Donde estaras?
The Tradition British Canon; alas, I do believe that I am indeed quite fucked come the morrow’s examination.
“Yesternight the sun went hence / And yet is here today” - John Donne I love old English.
And among the smiles and laugher jaggedly permeating the room, an eerie stillness descended upon me; it became quite clear to me then, that everyone sitting there, gayly animated and seemingly at ease, were somewhere cold and alone, easily a thousand miles from one another.
I measure every grief I meet With analytic eyes; I wonder if it weighs...– Emily Dickinson, from “CXVI” (via proustitute)
Someone, and no matter where, collects the pieces of my shadow.– Claude Esteban, from “[Someone, and no matter],” trans. Joanne Mackowski (via proustitute)
When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs...– Franz Kafka (adapted from sostrangehere)
Contemplating my financial struggles while listening to Money - Pink Floyd.
Pandora Radio does not have Bass Communion. I am aghast with contempt and disapproval. For shame, Pandora, for being ignorant to such a spiritual and inter dimensional musical phenomenon such as Bass Communion; for shame.
-no, she thought, one could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment...– Virginia Woolf
All nighters are quite simply the best experience of any college career.
Linguists Are (Usually) People, Too!: 100 Most... →
fuckyeahsocialthought: Ailurophile A cat-lover. Assemblage A gathering. Becoming Attractive. Beleaguer To exhaust with attacks. Brood To think alone. Bucolic In a lovely rural setting. Bungalow A small, cozy cottage. Chatoyant Like a cat’s eye. Comely Attractive. Conflate…
Officially so, Words loaf through the weary air Exhausted after supporting the weight of the year; Nearing the end, the grasp wavers And momentarily vanishes So that for a split second The past, present and future come into view And in a marvelous temporal landscape Understanding manifests, Lucid and crystalline, Into a light; Outside space and time It is forever visible, Shining...
A man in a desert can hold absence in his cupped hands knowing it is something...– Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient (via weissewiese)