February 2010
28 posts
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January 2010
65 posts
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dataobscura:
The life that they gave us to live, we lived. Pity those who wait with such patience lost in the black laurel under the heavy plane trees and those, alone, who speak to cisterns and wells and drown in the voice’s circles. George Seferis
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At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness...
– Albert Camus (via fuckyeahexistentialism)
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I realized the moment I fell into the fissure that the book would not be...
– – Atrus’ journal in Myst: The Book of Atrus by Rand and Robyn Miller
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poetbabble:
Who am I, you ask? I don’t know, my friend. I am all the languages I ever spoke, I am all the places I ever lived, I am all the people I ever met, I am all the women I ever loved, I am all the writers I ever read; I am all my ancestors – but at least they had the decency of never thinking of themselves as writers. Who am I, you ask? I don’t know, my friend; I don’t even know who is...
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Not only our memories, but the things we have forgotten are ‘housed.’ Our soul...
– Gaston Bachelard (via quantumpossibility) (via crashinglybeautiful)
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To know oneself is to err, and the oracle that said ‘Know thyself’...
– The Book of Disquiet (entry 149), Fernando Pessoa
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Everything stated or expressed by man is a note in the margin of a completely...
– The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa
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Some people work because they’re bored; sometimes I write because I have nothing...
– Fernando Pessoa as Bernardo Soares in The Book of Disquiet; a passage from entry 223. (via graemebooks) (via lapetitebaobab)
(oddly, in my 2002 copy it isn’t entry 223.)