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“It is a time of quiet joy, the sunny morning. When the glittery dew is on the mallow weeds, each leaf holds a jewel which is beautiful if not valuable. This is no time for hurry or for bustle. Thoughts are slow and deep and golden in the morning.”

— John Steinbeck, Tortilla Flat

1:15 pm  119 notes

“Touch me. Soft eyes. Soft soft soft hand. I am lonely here. O, touch me soon, now. What is that word known to all men? I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me.”

— James Joyce, Ulysses

11:16 pm  215 notes

wgat books u read
by Anonymous

i’ve never read a book, sorry


7:26 pm  8 notes

It is almost spring and I am reading Ulysses on my roof and I am wishing you wonderful days


6:05 pm  56 notes

“I fear those big words which make us so unhappy”

— James Joyce, Ulysses

5:02 pm  147 notes


so i just finished True Detective and i’ve honestly never been so impressed with a television series. if you are looking for a show to get into, i implore you to watch it: matthew mcconaughey and woody harrelson star in it. nobody i know has seen it, so i’d love to talk to you guys about it. the series examines humanity in such a unique way, and the writing/acting is superb. and the finale brought me to tears. anyway, it’s an amazing work of art and you guys should check it out


2:30 pm  30 notes

“Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.”

— e.e. cummings

2:04 pm  200 notes

“He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn’t need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.”

— William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

2:01 pm  203 notes

“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”

— Franz Kafka, The Castle

1:57 pm  447 notes

“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

— Franz Kafka

1:56 pm  333 notes

“From things that have happened and from things as they exist and from all things that you know and all those you cannot know, you make something through your invention that is not a representation but a whole new thing truer than anything true and alive, and you make it alive, and if you make it well enough, you give it immortality.”

— Ernest Hemingway

1:53 pm  139 notes

“Painting must give us the flavor of nature’s eternity. Everything, you understand. So I join together nature’s straying hands. From all sides, here there and everywhere, I select colors, tones and shades; I set them down, I bring them together. They make lines, they become objects – rocks, trees – without my thinking about them. But if there is the slightest distraction, the slightest hitch, above all if I interpret too much one day, if I’m carried away today by a theory which contradicts yesterday’s, if I think while I’m painting, if I meddle, then woosh!, everything goes to pieces.”

— Paul Cézanne

1:49 pm  46 notes