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Tears are words the mouth can't say nor can the heart bear.

~Joshua Wisenbaker

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“The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd: the longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what never could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.”

— Fernando Pessoa, The Book of the Disquiet.

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After each night we are emptier, our mysteries and our griefs have leaked away into our dreams. Thus sleep’s labor not only diminishes the power of out thought, but even that of our secrets.

~Emil Cioran

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“And it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.”

— Sylvia Plath

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“I want the part of you that you refuse to give.”

— Ellen Hopkins, Identical

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“What is the meaning of life? That was all — a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”

— Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

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“You sort of underestimate the human being when you say that every least thing that is an abstract experience is spiritual. It isn’t. It’s just your real self. You can be capable of fantastic abstract experiences, right in this life.” –Agnes Martin, quoted in Nancy Princenthal, Agnes Martin: Her Life and Art

Image: Agnes Martin, Untitled #5, 1998

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Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse: Fragments (trans. Richard Howard) [transcript in ALT]

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“I’m tired of everybody. Please forgive me.”

— Ernest Hemingway

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“I love you.”

“I love you too, but what if that’s all we have in common?”

New Girl (2011-2018)

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I am alone in my room, between two worlds.

~Sylvia Plath

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I beg your pardon. I love you very much. I’m nuts about you. I know it. I could love you all my life.

J. D. Salinger, "The Heart of a Broken Story" (1941)

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Tarde o temprano me cansaré de esta sensación: la de perder lo que ni siquiera tengo.

Vanessa Villa K. - EL viento en mis sueños.