Nov
27th
Fri
27th
(via ahniniart)
Benjamin: Well, I would say that I'm just drifting. Here in the pool.
Mr. Braddock: Why?
Benjamin: Well, it's very comfortable just to drift here.
Nov
24th
Tue
24th
Like all dreamers, I confuse disenchantment with truth.
— Jean–Paul Sartre (via samsaramotel) (via lafave) (via smut-to-go) (via fuckyeahexistentialism) (via milkdrop)
Nov
12th
Thu
12th
It’s okay if you totally fail. You’re still awesome, okay?
Nov
10th
Tue
10th
Into My Own by Robert Frost 
ONE of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as ‘twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e’er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew—
Only more sure of all I thought was true.
Some may have blamed us that we cease to speak
Of things we spoke of in our verses early,
Saying: a lovely voice is such as such;
Saying: that lady’s eyes were sad last week,
Wherein the world’s whole joy is born and dies;
Saying: she hath this way or that, this much
Of grace, this way or that, this much
Of grace, this little misericorde;
Ask us no further word;
If we were proud, then proud to be so wise
Ask us no more of all the things ye heard;
We may not speak of them, they touch us nearly.
Of things we spoke of in our verses early,
Saying: a lovely voice is such as such;
Saying: that lady’s eyes were sad last week,
Wherein the world’s whole joy is born and dies;
Saying: she hath this way or that, this much
Of grace, this way or that, this much
Of grace, this little misericorde;
Ask us no further word;
If we were proud, then proud to be so wise
Ask us no more of all the things ye heard;
We may not speak of them, they touch us nearly.
— Ezra Pound, The Fault of It (via blogut) (via quote-book)
(via papertissue)
