Her emotions rose like foam on the crest of a wave, were battered against the rocks of experience and subsided once more into the water.
Amrita Pritam, from âPinjar: The Skeleton & Other Stories,â publ. c. 2009
Cosimo Galluzzi

â
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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One Nice Bug Per Day

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cherry valley forever
YOU ARE THE REASON
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation
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if i look back, i am lost

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@hollowaches
Her emotions rose like foam on the crest of a wave, were battered against the rocks of experience and subsided once more into the water.
Amrita Pritam, from âPinjar: The Skeleton & Other Stories,â publ. c. 2009

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"You can't change nature." "Change is nature." is kind of a raw line to be from ratatouille
I felt more and more distanced from my own life,
Meena Alexander, from âFault Lines,â originally published c. 1993 (via violentwavesofemotion)
The Sower (Sower with Setting Sun)  Detail  -   Vincent van Gogh , 1888.
Dutch, 1853-1889
Oil on canvas, 204.5 x 162.5 cm
KrĂśller-MĂźller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands
gown bodices, 1840s-1860s

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top 12 savage things Medea says in classical literature
featuring Euripides, Ovid, and Seneca
á˝ĄĎ ĎĎá˝śĎ áźÎ˝ ĎÎąĎáž˝ áźĎĎίδι/ĎĎáżÎ˝ÎąÎš θÎΝοΚΟួ áźÎ˝ ΟវΝΝον ២ ĎξκξáżÎ˝ áź ĎιΞ (Euripides Med. 250-1)
for I would rather thrice stand by the shield/ than once bear a child
κι὜ ĎÎżáżĎ áźĎιίι Îłáž˝ Îżá˝ĎÎą ĎĎ ÎłĎÎŹÎ˝Ď Î´ĎΟοΚĎ. (Euripides Med. 608)
I am a curse unto your house as well
κι὜ ÎźÎąÎ˝Î¸ÎŹÎ˝Ď Îźá˝˛Î˝ ο១ι ĎοΝΟΎĎĎ ÎşÎąÎşÎŹ/Î¸Ď Îźá˝¸Ď Î´á˝˛ ÎşĎξίĎĎĎν Ď῜ν áźÎźáżśÎ˝ Î˛ÎżĎ ÎťÎľĎ ÎźÎŹĎĎν/á˝ ĎĎÎľĎ ÎźÎľÎłÎŻĎĎĎν Îąáź´ĎÎšÎżĎ ÎşÎąÎşáżśÎ˝ βĎÎżĎÎżáżĎ. (Euripides Med. 1078-80)
I know what evils I dare to do/ my heart is stronger than my plans/ and great is my blame for the blood
dum ferrum flammaeque aderunt sucusque veneni/ hostis Medeae nullus inultus erit (Ovid Her. 12.181-2)
as long as I have iron and fire and poison at my disposal/ no enemy of Medeaâs will go unpunished
viderit ista deus, qui nunc mea pectora versat/ nescio quid certe mens mea maius agit! (Ovid Her. 211-2)
the god who twists my heart will witness these deeds/ for surely I know not what vast act my mind devises!
tum me de tigride natam/ tum ferrum et scopulos gestare in corde fatebor (Ovid Met. 7.32-3)Â
then I will be called the daughter of a tiger/ and they will say I carry iron and stone in my heart
maximus intra me deus est (Ovid Met. 7.55)Â Â
the greatest god is within me
et vertice sidera tangam (Ovid Met. 7.61)
and I will reach the stars with the crown of my head
Medea superest, hic mare et terras vides/ ferrumque et ignes et deos et fulmina (Seneca Med. 166-7)
Medea stands alone, here you see the sea and the lands/ and iron and fire and gods and lightning
si placet, damna ream;/ sed redde crimen (Seneca Med. 245-6)
condemn me if you like;/ but give me back my crime
invadam deos/ et cuncta quatiam (Seneca Med. 424-5)
I will invade the gods/ and shake all things
Medea nunc sum; crevit ingenium malis (Seneca Med. 910)
Now I am become Medea; my nature has grown amidst evil
yes, my, voices, my, dreams, I am a poet, and I have been sacrified in order.
Alice Notley, from Iphigenia. (via xshayarsha)
What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded⌠sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.
George Saunders, Congratulations, by the way: Some Thoughts on Kindness
what was heavy and tender and alive
Iâm beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me.
Hermann Hesse, from âDemian,â originally published c. May 1919

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@talbertart su @crashart26 e @crashart31
âŚhow I feel autumnâs ache.
Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Violet Dickinson written c. September 1907
Chelsea Wolfe, from Birth Of Violence; âAmerican Darkness,â released c. 2019
i finally wrote something
I always walk behind men who feel like my father â my hands know anger but theyâve been cut to the bone. I wonder what itâs like to be a body left alone; I donât mean to be bitter, but Iâve been chewing on rotten fruit since birth, turning myself pulp before they can tear me to shreds.
â Kanika Lawton, from âOn Political(ized) Life,â published in Poets Resist

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Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles
âHow light the raindropâs contents are. How gently the world touches me.â
â WisĹawa Szymborska, from âWaterâ, View With a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems