#【 silence 】

[nobeerreviews]

On a lone winter evening, when the frost has wrought a silence.

--John Keats

[krikfuar]

День, когда снег в ноябре задержался дольше обычного ~

Ветер вздыхал и шуршал среди побуревших, покрытых инеем больших папоротников, затем грустно затихал, удаляясь вниз по ручью. Уолтер сказал однажды, что любит эту меланхолию ноябрьского ветра. Верные Влюбленные Деревья, как и прежде, держали друг друга в нежных объятиях, и ветви Белой Леди, давно превратившейся в громадное дерево, белели, красивые и изящные, на фоне серого бархата затянутого тучами неба. Уолтер дал им эти имена много лет назад, а в прошлом ноябре, когда проходил вместе с ней и мисс Оливер через Долину Радуг, заметил, глядя на ствол и голые ветви Белой Леди, над которой висел серебристый молодой месяц: «Белая береза — прекрасная юная ��зычница, не утратившая известного в раю секрета, как не стыдиться своей наготы».

[downfalldestiny]

That's all o need 🥾🍺🍃!.

[numenrecords]

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

If I had been able, at your feet, calm and free, to make me little by little an artist - yes, I believe that I would have quickly reached what I aspire to in the suffering of my heart, and which often fills it in broad daylight with a mute despair. To be deprived of the joy that we could give ourselves - this justifies well all the tears we have cried for years, but what's revolting is to tell ourselves that we risk perishing with the best in us because one is missing the other. And you see it is precisely that which sometimes makes me so silent, because I have to flee from such thoughts. 

I would like to become insensitive and forget everything, but your illness and your letter have made me clearly understand that it is you who is always suffering, always, while I, the child that I am, only know how to cry about it! Tell me what I must do: should we keep silent about what is in our hearts or tell each other? I've always played the coward, out of respect for you. I've always pretended that I could live with anything, as if I were really made to be the plaything of men and circumstances, as if I did not have a firm heart within me which, faithful and free in its right, beats for that which is highest, you, my beloved! 

Often I have deprived myself, I have denied my dearest love and even my thoughts for you, simply to live this destiny for you, as gently as possible - and you, you struggled to have peace, you opposed a heroic strength against suffering, keeping silent about what could not be changed, hidden, buried in you, the eternal choice of your heart, and that's why sometimes everything becomes darkness in our eyes and we no longer know who we are or what belongs to us, we hardly recognize ourselves anymore. This eternal struggle, these contradictions of your inner being must slowly end you if no god comes to soften them - then all that remains for me is to perish from your fate and of mine, or to consider nothing but you and to seek with you a way that will put an end to our fight...

Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, February 1950? [#222]

[stayuntilthefoglifts]

Never have I dealt with anything as difficult as my own soul.

Imam Al-Ghazali

[metamorphesque]

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Gentle Spirit

[lauramakabresku]

God's grace wanders at night among the fields of the soul

[ancientsstudies]

The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

ig credit: sofikulin.

[lanasangelsblog]

[fortunatelyperfectcreator]

[hektor-world]

Good night

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

Should we keep silent about what is in our hearts or tell each other? I've always played the coward, out of respect for you. I've always pretended that I could live with anything, as if I were really made to be the plaything of men and circumstances, as if I did not have a firm heart within me which, faithful and free in its right, beats for that which is highest, you, my beloved!

Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, February 1950? [#222]

[mournfulroses]

Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares written in February 1950

[feral-ballad]

Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Hasan Javadi & Susan Sallée, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad; "Let us believe in the beginning of a cold season"

[Text ID: "I am naked, naked, naked / naked like the moments of silence / between the phrases of love"]