All that is done in good faith, in good faith shall be repaid.
You took off your clothes, left on the light
You stood there so brave
You used to be shy
Each feature improved, each movement refined and eyes like a showroom
Now they are spreading out the blankets on the beach
That weatherman is a liar
He said it would be rain-ing but it’s clear and blue as far as I can see
NEED to learn how to make this!!!
He could feel her dropping back to inexpressive girlishness. Her conscience had been eased of its burden. It was wonderful, he thought, how such depths of feeling could co-exist with such an absence of imagination.
The Age of Innocence, the movie - makes me cry, every time!
The ink-black nights were turning cold, the stars frosty and fewer. The raft swayed in the ghostly trail of moonlight and seemed to be sailing away.
Catch 22, Joseph Heller, 1961, p. 386.
To welcome the cold months. That they be fair, and warm… x
When my arms wrap you round I press
My heart upon the loveliness
that has long faded from the world.
W.B Yeats, He Remembers Forgotten Beauty.
(via righteouswaxchaperone)
Source: violentwavesofemotion
‘I’d like to show you some ink blots now to find out what certain shapes and colors remind you of.’
‘You can save yourself the trouble, Doctor. Everything reminds me of sex.’
Catch 22, Joseph Heller, 1961, p. 341.
Oh my, Yossarian is the best!
It is not length of life, but depth of life. … A great integrity makes us immortal; an admiration, a deep love, a strong will, arms us above fear. It makes a day memorable. We say we lived years in that hour.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Immortality”, in The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1909.
Superficiality is for the weak.
This is what I thought: for the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story. But you have to choose: live or tell.
Sartre in Nausea. 1938
(via too-old-to-die-young)
Source: henrycooke
Source: tylerknott.com
(via mochacafe)
Why does the mind do such things? Turn on us, rend us, dig the claws in. If you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. Maybe it’s much the same.
Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
(via righteouswaxchaperone)
Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
Henry James
*but the night, and the moon.
Page 1 of 13
London based Brazilian writer, editor and translator.
