supremesapphic:

Tonight’s mood is going to the beach alone in the dark to sit on some rocks by the water after ingesting enough caffeine to transcend this plane of existence and have a personal conversation with Virginia Woolf

(via athenaefilia)

soracities:

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language / And next year’s words await another voice.”

— T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding” (via theclassicsreader)

(via athenaefilia)

violentwavesofemotion:

“…the celestial silence of the moon.”

— Juan Ramón Jiménez, from “Portrait of an Unseasonable Time,” wr. c. 1911

(via athenaefilia)

a-quiet-green-agreement:

“Where was I? Did I wake or sleep? Had I been dreaming? Did I dream still?”

– Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

(via athenaefilia)

seaymphea:

“Sauvage, sad, silent, as timid as the sylvan doe, in her own family she seemed a strangeling.”

— Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin (tr. by Vladimir Nabokov)

(Source: antigonick, via athenaefilia)

coffee-and-cinema:

“Of all the things I am not very good at, living in the real world is perhaps the most outstanding.”

— Anne Tyler, The Accidental Tourist  (via oiseauperdu)

(via athenaefilia)

mesogeios:

“Keats writes about the tendency of poets to annihilate their own identities by the chameleon-like absorption of other, more ‘poetic’ identities. Emily Dickinson delights in the meeting of another Nobody: ‘I’m Nobody! Who are you? / Are You—Nobody—Too?’ Walt Whitman asks—and answers—with self-assurance, ‘Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)’ T. S. Eliot sees poetry as ‘an escape from personality.’ Faulkner wishes for a ‘markless’ life that could be summarized in one sentence, ‘He made his books and died.’”

— Katia Mitova, from “The Pessoa Syndrome” 

(Source: endophoras, via athenaefilia)

beyondmythoughtssociety:

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

I must have flowers, always, and always.

Water Lilies is an extension of my life. Without the water, the lilies cannot live, as I am without art.

My wish is to stay always like this, living quietly in a corner of nature.

Colour is my daylong obsession, joy, and torment.

My garden is my most beautiful masterpiece.

What keeps my heart awake is colourful silence.

(via athenaefilia)

thedouble2013:

like… the overwhelming embarrassment of having a physical form

(Source: eastegg, via athenaefilia)

bebemoon:

“I long for secret sunwalked places, and a god to take me up high”

— Anne Carson, from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides; Hippolytos. (via xshayarsha)

(via athenaefilia)

seaymphea:

“I am shy as a wild creature.”

— János Pilinszky, from The Desert of Love: Selected Poems; “Apocrypha,”
(via thistlewytch)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via athenaefilia)

megairea:

“Oh my shadow Oh my ancient serpent”

— Guillaume Apollinaire, from Voie lactée; Alcools, 1913.

(via athenaefilia)

violentwavesofemotion:

“I found the Muse in myself. And I loved Her fiercely.”

— Annie Finch, from Among the Goddesses: An Epic; “Muse-Goddess,”

(via athenaefilia)

violentwavesofemotion:

“…a powerful yearning for distant beautiful things.”

— Georg Trakl, from Poems & Prose: A Bilingual Edition; “Dreamland,”

(via athenaefilia)