Stolen Word

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in your soul

— Emily Dickinson (via elkking)

Anne Sexton at Home

Looks like what drives me crazy
Don’t have no effect on you—
But I’m gonna keep on at it
Till it drives you crazy, too.

— ― Langston Hughes, Selected Poems

Robert Rauschenberg’s handwritten draft of a statement on photography first published in Rauschenberg Photographs, Pantheon Books, New York, 1981. From the Robert Rauschenberg Foundation Archives

via: robertrauschenberg:

But I always liked side-paths, little dark back-alleys behind the main road—there one finds adventures and surprises, and precious metal in the dirt.

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (via mirroir)

(Source: seabois)

Mahalia Jackson @ Newport Jazz Festival - 1958

(Source: mortishia)

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.
C. S. Lewis

Mirrored: The Charles Bukowski Tapes by Barbet Schroder (1987)

Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits the best and is most becoming?

— Sylvia Plath. (via ziegfeld-girl)

(Source: ihavemanyfaces)

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.

— Ernest Hemingway
(via seabois)

From “The Lotos-Eaters”

Let us alone.

Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence—ripen, fall, and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

-A. Tennyson

via: myelegiaalone