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Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.

Neil Gaiman (via meineluft)

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I grow, I fall, I need, I want, I follow, I break, I sink, I love, I exist.

The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955 (via decreation)

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Melancholia ends up in asymbolia, in loss of meaning: if I am no longer capable of translating or metaphorizing, I become silent and I die.

Julia Kristeva, Black Sun: Melancholia and Depression (via antigonick)

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but this is another love—it goes everywhere; there is no place for it to stop—it rots me away.

Nightwood, Djuna Barnes (via decreation)

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Mahmoud Darwish, tr. by Sinan Antoon, from “In The Presence of Absence,”

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You cannot speak to anyone, because the world is empty of the living and filled with the dead,

Mahmoud Darwish, tr. by Sinan Antoon, from “In The Presence of Absence,” (via mournfulroses)

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You've felt it, haven't you? Those feelings that seem to get so big in your chest, like something is so beautiful it aches?

Heather Anastasiu 

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Human existence is so fragile a thing and exposed to such dangers that I cannot love without trembling.

Simone Weil, from ‘’ Gravity and Grace ‘’

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“I am alive. Like a wound, flower in the flesh, the path of sorrowful blood is opened within me.”

Água Viva, Clarice Lispector tr. Stefan Tobler

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Live or die, but don't poison everything...

Saul Bellow

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…and I sat there and read which was very nice.

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry featured in “A Passionate Apprentice,” (via mournfulroses)

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Listen, my heart, as only saints have listened: until the gigantic call lifted them off the ground; yet they kept on, impossibly, kneeling and didn’t notice at all: so complete was their listening.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Duino Elegies. Trans. Stephen Mitchell. (via xshayarsha)

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Sue Zhao

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