imonfire1985:

bike scene

metamorphesque:

― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

[text ID: aside from myself, there was no sign of me]

theoptia:

Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “The Teacher”

Text ID: So, I thought I had to become more than / I was, more than I’d been. / but that wasn’t it. It seemed rather that / something had to go. Something had to / be let go of.

adrasteiax:

“I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame.”

— Mary Oliver, from Of Power And Time in “Blue Pastures”

a-quiet-green-agreement:

In looking back I think that she must have been beautiful; yet the detailed picture of her obstinately eludes me, I can recall only an impression of a face unique, neither gay nor melancholy, but endued with a peculiar quality of apartness, the look of a person dedicated to some accepted destiny.

– Anna Kavan, from “The Birthmark,” Asylum Piece and Other Stories (Peter Owen, 1972)

a-quiet-green-agreement:

“I dreamed I was born dying.” She lit a new cigarette with the old one.

– Aimee Parkison, from “Locked Doors,” The Innocent Party: Stories (BOA Editions, 2012)

geryone:

ALT

Self-Portrait of the Cuckoo in Her Labyrinth of Wonder, Safiya Sinclair

a-quiet-green-agreement:

“I shall suffer later,” I told myself. “Later, when I’m alone.”

– Cesare Pavese, from “The Idol,” The Leather Jacket: Stories (Quartet Books, 1980)

forestlore:

“September approaching… I feel I owe myself a brief respite of leisure and no rushing around. I can’t face the dead reality. I want rainy days, lanterns and a hundred moons twining in dark leaves, music spilling out and echoing yet inside my head.”

— Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. August 1951 (via echymosis)