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…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.
William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury -
I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age old pain,
Its ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -
And the songs of every poet past and forever.Posted on May 26, 2012 via Mind Over Matter with 2 notes
Source: lgreigns
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(via ache)
Posted on May 26, 2012 via cosmic with 17,446 notes
Source: Flickr / tomgauld
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This is actually really awesome.
(via soulhunting)
Posted on May 25, 2012 via Soulhunting with 237 notes
Source: thequietplaceproject.com
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The Heart is a lonely hunter with only one desire! To find some lasting comfort in the arms of anothers fire…driven by a desperate hunger to the arms of a neon light, the heart is a lonely hunter when there’s no sign of love in sight!
Carson McCullers (via quote-book)Posted on May 25, 2012 via Quote Book: with 695 notes
Source: quote-book
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him…
*from miaboas photography
Posted on May 25, 2012 via Mind Over Matter with 12 notes
Source: lgreigns
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How silently the heart pivots on its hinge.
Jane Hirshfield, “Not Moving Even One Step” (via helplesslyamazed)Posted on May 25, 2012 via Quote Book: with 782 notes
Source: quote-book
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(via imthecatalyst)
Posted on May 25, 2012 via ☯ fear & faith ☯ with 5,858 notes
Source: fear-n-faith
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Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them —
Thoughts gone dim.Posted on May 25, 2012 via Poe's Mistress with 885 notes
Source: frenchtwist
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Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.
Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird. (via luzdebosque)(via incandescentblatherings)
Posted on May 25, 2012 via paperbackgirl. with 490 notes
Source: paperbackgirl
The things I've left unsaid, the thoughts I never thought- they will be recorded here.
I am young, but an old soul.
A lover of rain and Nutella.
This was created as a journey for me, so that I can teach myself to write, and maybe learn something about what I have left undone and what I still have left to do.
"Something Left Undone
Labor with what zeal we will,
Something still remains undone,
Something uncompleted still
Waits the rising of the sun.
By the bedside, on the stair,
At the threshhold, near the gates,
With its menace or its prayer,
Like a medicant it waits;
Waits, and will not go away;
Waits, and will not be gainsaid;
By the cares of yesterday
Each to-day is heavier made;
Till at length the burden seems
Greater than our strength can bear,
Heavy as the weight of dreams
Pressing on us everywhere.
And we stand from day to day,
Like the dwarfs of times gone by,
Who, as Northern legends say,
On their shoulders held the sky."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
