Reality is such a stressful plane. Every projection of reality appears to be a complete anti-thesis of the boisterous and fertile grounds of fantasies and dreams. But then it’s tangible. It’s the one that can be felt. Yet it’s so goddam easy to want to be numb.
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.”—Franz Kafka (via finallyseeing: lavenderlines: unicornology) (via into) (via counterforce) (via libraryland, sadnesses)
well….not ‘only’ but certainly ‘also’
“Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.”—The Sacred Wood: Philip Massinger (via tseliot) (via libraryland)
I Should Have Stayed in Bed Today by Jack Prelutsky
I should have stayed in bed today,
in bed’s where I belong,
as soon as I got up today,
things started going wrong,
I got a splinter in my foot,
my puppy made me fall,
I squirted toothpaste in my ear,
I crashed into the wall.
I knocked my homework off the desk,
it landed on my toes,
I spilled a glass of chocolate milk,
it’s soaking through my clothes,
I accidentally bit my tongue,
that really made me moan,
and it was far from funny
when I banged my funny bone.
I scraped my knees, I bumped my nose,
I sat upon a pin,
I leapt up with alacrity,
and sharply barked my shin,
I stuck a finger in my eye,
the pain is quite severe,
I’d better get right back to bed
and stay there for a year.
O generation of the thoroughly smug and thoroughly uncomfortable, I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun, I have seen them with untidy families, I have seen their smiles full of teeth and heard ungainly laughter. And I am happier than you are, And they were happier than I am; And the fish swim in the lake and do not even own clothing.
My mother, who hates thunderstorms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
But when August weather breaks
And rains begin, and brittle frost
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air,
Her worried summer look is lost.
And I her son, though summer-born
And summer-loving, none the less
Am easier when the leaves are gone;
Too often summer days appear
Emblems of perfect happiness
I can’t confront: I must await
A time less bold, less rich, less clear:
An autumn more appropriate.
“It breaks immortality’s neck
Contemplates crime and therefore halts it;
It humbles barbarous nations
And makes of savages, champions.”—“Por La Education” (To Education, c. 1876) Jose Rizal (via quote-book) (via troubleinharlem)
When I was one-and-twenty , I heard a wise man say ” Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies but keep your fancy free” but I was one-and-twenty. No one to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again , ” The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; ‘Tis paid with a-plenty And sold for endless rue.” And I am two-and-twenty , And oh , ‘tis true , ‘tis true!
Thank you for the words I read
Thank you for the words I need
Thank you for the words so great
Thanks for words that raise debate,
Thanks for the words on my bookshelf
Thanks for the words I make myself
Thank you for words that make me cry
And words that leave me feeling dry.
Thanks for words that do inspire
And those words that burn like fire
Thanks for all the words I note
Thanks you for all the words I quote,
I thank you for the words like me
Thanks for words that set me free
And I thank you for words like you
I always need a word or two.
Thanks for words that make things plain
And words that help me explain
Thanks for words that make life fun
And words that help me overcome,
Thanks for words that make me rap
Thanks for words that make me clap
Thanks for words that make me smile
Thanks for words with grace and style.
Thanks for all those words that sing
Thanks for words are everything
Thanks for all the words like this
And little sloppy words like kiss,
Thanks for words like hip-hooray
And those cool words I like to say
Thanks for words that reach and touch
Thank you very, very much.
“When everything is lonely
I can be my own best friend
Get a coffee and the paper
Have my own conversations
With the sidewalk and the pigeons
And my window reflection
The mask I polish in the evening
By the morning looks like shit”— Lua, Bright Eyes (via shouldbefloating) (via troubleinharlem)
Source unknown (seen on Hearts and Bones Season1, Ep1)
You have reached the plane on which the buffalo roam
Now there is no more hunting
Now there is no more searching
For now you have found your home
You have found a fire that you can hold between you
Now there is no more loneliness
Now there is no more cold
For the fire is the sun between you
You have made a building out of heart and bone
Now there is no more emptiness
Now there is no more storm
For your love makes the building home
I Dreamed Your Face by Margaret Elisabeth Sangster
I dreamed your face, one night, when Heaven seemed resting,
Against the troubled fever of the earth;
I dreamed that vivid throated birds were nesting,
In trees that shook with elfin-hearted mirth.
I dreamed that star-like purple flowers were springing
A-throb with perfume all about the place,
And that there was a far-off sound of singing—
And then—I dreamed your face!
I dreamed your face, and then I waked from dreaming,
(The creeping dawn seemed very cold and bare!)
The rising sun seemed pallid in its beaming,
Because its coming did not find you there!
And I—I rose despondent in the morning,
As one whose burning thirst has not been slaked;
I dreamed your face, a wonder world adorning,
And then—I waked.
And so I went upon a quest to find you,
A quest that led through many bitter years;
I journeyed far with strands of love to bind you,
And found, not you, but bitterness and tears—
So I returned, discouraged, through the gloaming,
My shoulders bowed with weariness unguessed;
I came back, unsuccessful, from my roaming—
My sorry quest!
I had a bit of garden that I tended,
It helped me dream, again, my dream of you—
It was a joyous place of colors blended—
A place where pansies and Sweet William grew.
And one bright day I hummed as I was planting
A border row of flowers slim and fair,
And raised my eyes to see pale sunlight slanting
Across your hair!