December 2009
48 posts
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If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it...
– William Blake (via nihilnoetia) (via smellslikesunshine)
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We (the undivided divinity operating within us) have dreamt the world. We have...
– Jorge Luis Borges, Avatars of the Tortoise (via touba) (via lapetitebaobab)
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Sometimes I muse about how wonderful it would be if I could string all my dreams...
– The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa
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serpentskirt:
You go on, and once again it seems to you that The moon’s river has widened on the trees. A life, perhaps, is stirring, in the mirror…
But no, branches and stars are mingling now, As mingle paths and dreams. Night is a stone That, gleaming, blocks the flow of the river
I dream that I am going out into the snowy night. I dream that I am carrying With me, far, outside, there...
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And, he, his own transparency involved with that of the dream, contained in the...
– Hermann Broch, The Death of Virgil, 1945 (via serpentskirt)
It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.
– J Krishnamurti (via samsaramotel) (via therestisbullshit)
Forces, songs, and occult passions are asleep within us. Mixed up in human...
– Giorgio de Chirico, Proteus (via touba) (via crashinglybeautiful)
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So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen...
– 2 Corinthians 4:18 (via stairwaytocalifornia) (via crashinglybeautiful)
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I am not what I am. My essence escapes me. Here A does not equal A. It is a...
– from Unattainable Earth, by Czeslaw Milosz
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crashinglybeautiful:
What was love? A wind whispering among the roses, no, a yellow phosphorescence in the blood. Love was a hot devil’s music that set even the hearts of old men dancing. It was like the marguerite, which opens wide as night comes on, and it was like the anemone, which closes at a breath and dies at a touch. Such was love. It could ruin a man, raise him up again, and then brand...
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