When I feel like the sun is hiding from me, when my heart aches, when tears come, in the depths of my soul, still I rejoice. The poetry of life is breathing in me, and each breath brings a new verse.
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When I feel like the sun is hiding from me, when my heart aches, when tears come, in the depths of my soul, still I rejoice. The poetry of life is breathing in me, and each breath brings a new verse.
Quiet Lotus (via quietlotus)

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The light she had thought to extinguish had escaped from her dying hands and floated always farther across the desert, shedding its marvelous radiance over rock and stone.
Illustration by Edmund Dulac for Queen Marie of Romania’s Stealers of Light (ca.1916)
Betye Saar, Bittersweet (Bessie’s Song), 1973, mixed media collage.
An arrangement of mementos significant to the life and personality of the Jazz performer, Bessie Smith.
We’re so engaged in doing things to achieve purposes of outer value that we forget that the inner value, the rapture that is associated with being alive, is what it’s all about.
Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth (via litverve)
My shadow said to me: what is the matter Isn’t the moon warm enough for you why do you need the blanket of another body?
Margaret Atwood, “The Shadow Voice” (via wordsnquotes)

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I am absolutely persuaded that I am nothing in this universe; yet I feel that mine is the only real existence.
Emil Cioran, On the Heights of Despair (via fyp-philosophy)
The Swamp (1900) and Farmhouses with Birch Trees (1900) by Gustav Klimt
Every life is different because you passed this way and touched history.
Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible (via wordsnquotes)
chitra ganesh
Sylvia Plath. 1932-1963
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”

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Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death.
Arthur Schopenhauer, Counsels and Maxims (via mudwerks)
Farm Garden with a Crucifix by Gustav Klimt
No matter how honestly you open up to someone, there are still things you cannot reveal.
Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (via wordsnquotes)
Frida Kahlo Seated With Globe, Puente de Alvarado Studio, 1937
© Manuel Alvarez Bravo

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Railing, 1960s
Robert Amstutz
How I wish my heart would no longer ache for permanence in such a temporary world.
Kai Masa (via wnq-writers)