“I want a demeanor that says I’ve never been through anything at all, and I’m just a pug riding a decorative pillow. Where will I go today, who knows? But I shall be carried.”—Ronald Funches (via freepartysubs)
“In the ordinary jumble of my literary drawer, I sometimes find texts I wrote ten, fifteen, or even more years ago. And many of them seem to me written by a stranger: I simply do not recognize myself in them. There was a person who wrote them, and it was I. I experienced them, but it was in another life, from which I just woke up, as if from someone else’s dream.”—Fernando Pessoa (via writingquotes)
“People don’t stop writing just because they don’t make it as professional authors. They never have stopped. They just stop playing your game. People who like writing but aren’t interested in turning it into a career don’t need an industry at all. They don’t need publishers. They don’t need editors. They don’t need cover designers. They don’t need Amazon, Kobo, or Nook. They don’t need your self-publishing startup. They don’t need to sell or buy publishing services or tools. All they need is a community.
And community is the thing that the web offers in spades.”—Friends don’t let their friends become authors (via azspot)
“Everything has already been said and done. But, then, if this is so, why do we need more poems in the world? I once read a Jane Hirshfield interview where she said something quite wonderful. She essentially said we have to keep writing because it’s every generation’s job to put in the present vernacular poems that are called upon for rites of passage, such as poems read at weddings or funerals. I hadn’t thought of this before. Your ordinary citizen should be able to go to the library and find a poem written in the current vernacular, and the responsibility for every generation of writers is to make this possible. We must, then, rewrite everything that has ever been written in the current vernacular, which is really what the evolution of literature is all about. Nothing new gets said but the vernacular keeps changing.”—Mary Ruefle (via austinkleon)
“My idea of rich is that you can buy every book you ever want without looking at the price and you’re never around assholes. That’s the two things to really fight for in life.”—John Waters (via detailsdetales)
Catfish is a genius show, you guys. It can be funny, but rarely at the expense of its characters. It’s funny because people are hilarious, yearning, loving, hopeful things reaching out to each other across continents, and sometimes it’s funny to see that laid so bare. Every villain is allowed to be complicated, every dupe is treated with dignity, and every story reminds us that we are human beings with faults. We are gullible, we are liars, we are falling in love with strangers, but we are all just trying so hard to be understood.
I would like Nev and Max to host every single TV show I watch, pulling characters aside to counsel them, giving tough love, befriending parents with their blindingly white smiles, and googling shit from the comfort of their interchangeable 3 star hotel rooms.
[A]nd the world
Whirls green on a string, then
The leaves go quiet, wink
From their own shade, secretly.
Keep still, just a moment, leaves.
There is something I am trying to remember.
”—Robert Penn Warren, from “2. Deciduous Spring,” in section II “Love: Two Vignettes” of “Delight,” Tale of Time: Poems 1960-1966, in The Collected Poems of Robert Penn Warren, ed. John Burt (Louisiana State University Press, 1998)
“This is not your problem. You have your own body to deal with. The lamp by the bed is broken. You are feeling things he’s no longer in touch with. And everyone is speaking softly, so as not to wake one another. The wind knocks the heads of the flowers together. Steam rises from every cup at every table at once. Things happen all the time, things happen every minute that have nothing to do with us.”—Richard Siken, “A Primer for the Small Weird Loves” (via rhymine)
“Basically, I realized I was living in that awful stage of life between twenty-six and thirty-seven known as stupidity. It’s when you don’t know anything, not even as much as you did when you were younger, and you don’t even have a philosophy about all the things you don’t know, the way you did when you were twenty or would again when you were thirty-eight.”—Lorrie Moore, Anagrams (via slaughterhouse90210)
“Intelligent girls were often instinctively theatrical, purposely eccentric, mouthing highly suggestive words to confuse people. He had seen a number of such cases when it was impossible to distinguish the real thing from acting.”—Haruki Murakami (via thatkindofwoman)
“Some people make us feel more human and some people make us feel less human and that is a fact as much as gravity is a fact and maybe there are ways to prove it, but the proof of it matters less that the existence of it—how a stranger can show up and look at you and make you make more sense to yourself and the world, even if that sense is extremely fragile and only comes around occasionally and is prone to wander or fade—what matters is that sometimes sense is made between two people and I don’t know if it’s random or there is any kind of order to it, what combinations of people work the best and why and how do we find these people and how do we keep these people around, and I don’t know if it’s chaos or not chaos but it feels like chaos to me so I suppose it is.”—Catherine Lacey’s Nobody Is Ever Missing is filled with sentences as beautiful as this one. Typing it out was exhausting but also wonderful because I got to revisit it. (via bobbyfinger)
“You know that when you close your eyes there are termites chewing out of your skull. The soft flutter of moth wings against your occipital bone, the quiet crumbling of anthills. Your head is a glass jar with a stick in it and a few holes poked into the lid. Your head is a locked room, poison seeping across the floors, fog in a field while the moon is wild and glowing.”—Joyce Chong, “Entomophobia,” published in Gone Lawn (via bostonpoetryslam)
“And I began to let him go. Hour by hour. Days into months. It was a physical sensation, like letting out the string of a kite. Except that the string was coming from my center.”—Augusten Burroughs, You Better Not Cry (via durianquotes)