Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Prodigal Son." The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

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Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Prodigal Son." The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke (translated by Stephen Mitchell)

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Sometimes, being hurt too many times, doesn’t make you stronger, it destroy who you were, who you wanted to be and makes who you are today.
— Rafael Prado
“On March 28, 1941, Virginia Woolf loaded her pockets with stones and walked into the river Ouse. Her husband, Leonard Woolf, was obsessively punctilious, and had kept a journal every day of his adult life, in which he recorded daily menus and car mileage. Apparently, nothing was different on the day his wife committed suicide: he entered the mileage for his car. But on this day the paper is obscured by a smudge, writes his biographer, Victoria Glendinning, a brownish-yellow stain which has been rubbed or wiped. It could be tea or coffee or tears. The smudge is unique in all his years of neat diary-keeping.”
— JAMES WOOD, from How Fiction Works.
— Thomas Hardy, from “Far From the Madding Crowd.”
J28

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— Hanif Kureishi, from “The Buddha of Suburbia.”
natasha trethewey
“How many times I have looked / at the world and turned away.”
— Tarfia Faizullah, from “What I Want is Simple” published in Pen America
Sophokles, from Elektra; translated by Anne Carson in An Oresteia
Text ID: I am already nothing. / I am already burning.
Florence Welch, from Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry; “Maybe it would be fun”
[Text ID: “I tell myself I’m not like that any more / At least I thought I was less savage / I try, I try, I try, I try, I try to do less damage.”]

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“Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?”
Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath
— Arabelle Sicardi, from “The Year in Ugliness.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Frau Hanna Wolff c. January 1915
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Book of Hours.”
“Write to me in spite of my silence.”
— Albert Camus, letter to Jean Grenier (via desertssofvassteternity)

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Dulce MarĂa Loynaz, tr. by James O’Connor, from Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems
[Text ID: “I am not I. I am barely my own shadow.”]
“This is my heart. Even if I can no longer use it … It’s my heart.”
— Naomi Kawase, from the screenplay Radiance (Comme des Cinéma & Kino Films, 2017)