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aseaofquotes:

John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman
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aseaofquotes:

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
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aseaofquotes:

Joyce Maynard, At Home in the World
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God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

— Rainer Maria Rilke, Let Everything Happen To You

The only poem I know by heart. (via oldlatonight)
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johnnypanessa:

There will be a posting lull for a few days as I will be out and about down in Costa Rica. I’ll line a little up in the queue but look for a boatload of shit to come in a week or so.
That photo is Mastic Beach not Costa. That’s Long Island not Central America.
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alexaarae:

(I have no idea why I never uploaded this.)
Long Island Sound from the South at Sunset, December 2012.
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We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.

—  Anaïs Nin (via creatingaquietmind)
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metrodorus:

liquid / solid
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reem-abdel-aziz:

وألمس السما :)
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