siekka

[siekka]

I used to sleep with my books in piles all over my bed and sometimes they were the only thing keeping me warm and always the only thing keeping me alive.

Sherman Alexie, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven (via quotespile)

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This is the money pentacle. Reblog and unexpected money will come to you!

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— Paul Guest, from “1987.”

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As Lady Macbeth once said, “don’t be a pussy, it’s just murder,”

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I’m feverish with all the knowing. Full.

— Shelley Puhak, from "portrait of the artist as Cassandra," Harbinger

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Against this cosmic background the lifespan of a particular plant or animal appears, not as drama complete in itself, but only as a brief interlude in a panorama of endless change.

Rachel Carson, Under the Sea Wind (via thirdity)

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May Sarton, from Journal of a Solitude

[Text ID: Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass.

Let it go.]

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Please remind them that none of us have all the time we think we have in this troubled but still beautiful world.

Edwidge Danticat, The Art of Death (via quotespile)

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People who are starved out of conversation will approach it as if it was sacred, people who are starved out of touch experience any touch given to them as the highest form of intimacy, people starved out of gentleness will react to it as if it’s an invasion, an attempt to break them down, and people starved out of a community will approach it as if it was a minefield.

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– Virginia Woolf, from a Letter to Violet Dickinson written c. January 1909

[TEXT ID: "I appreciate your concern. None of this is your fault. It's me. It's me and my head. / In winter, I collapse." END ID]

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“The trauma made you stronger! ” My dude… my man,,, I break down from just being alive for a few hours, what the goddamn hell are you on about

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It is not the intensity but the duration of pain that breaks the will to resist.

William S. Burroughs, Naked Lunch (via quotespile)

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It’s all messy: the hair, the bed, the words, the heart. Life.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (via quotemadness)

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Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, tr. by Dianne Levitin, from “She Is Shameless,”

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Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

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My parents screaming ‘We Had It Worse!!!!’ every time I would complain about abuse, that’s why I thought everyone everywhere else had it worse than I did. That’s why I assumed everyone else is having a really tough life too and I was just whiny/spoiled/ungrateful. I wouldn’t even react to my own body pain, informing me that I’m hurt, pushed over the edge, paralyzed in terror. I tried to shut my every sense down in order to obey the narrative of ‘I’m just whiny and everyone else has it worse actually’. I became permanently damaged so my parents could force their narrative over my life.

They didn’t have it worse. They didn’t even have it nearly that bad. People around me didn’t have it worse either. I was led to believe everyone lived in hell and I was the only one complaining. But I was in hell alone. I was in hell and the ability to say it was taken away from me.

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“I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to done, not a background to thought.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Why I adore the night (via stability)