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Because you just can't seem to get enough.

Mar 18
“We have to learn to be our own best friend because we fall too easily into the trap of being our own worst enemy.” Rodderick Thorpe (via purplebuddhaproject)

(via commondense)


guardian:

A Love Letter to the City: Stephen Powers’s street art – in pictures

New York graffiti artist Stephen Powers daubs his super-sized murals and messages on city walls and rooftops from Brooklyn to Philadelphia, Belfast to São Paulo – his new book, A Love Letter to the City, collects them in one place. See more

Photos: Matthew Kuborn (first three) and Adam Wallacavage (remaining twoo, click photos for captions). 


the human tragedy

 Sylvia Plath. 1932-1963
 “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I  want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the  skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades,  tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in  life. And I am horribly limited.” 

the human tragedy

 Sylvia Plath. 1932-1963

 “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I  want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the  skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades,  tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in  life. And I am horribly limited.” 

(via newsweek)


Mar 12

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
of dead and living. Not the intense moment
isolated, with no before and after,
but a lifetime burning in every moment
and not the lifetime of one man only
but of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
a time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
when here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
here or there does not matter
we must be still and still moving
into another intensity
for a further union, a deeper communion
through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
the wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

- T. S. Eliot
Four Quartets


Mar 11

LE PARC: pdd (act 3) abandon (Laurent Hilaire & Isabelle Guérin)


Mar 10

não me canso de ver e rever e rever…


[Petite Mort
 was composed for the 1991 Salzburg Festival on the second centenary of Mozart’s death with six men, six women, and six foils. Assistant choreographer was Roslyn Anderson, costumes by Joke Visser, and music by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart included Piano Concerto in A Major – Adagio and Piano Concerto in C Major – Andante.]



“Ordinary readers, forgive my paradoxes: one must make them when one reflects; and whatever you may say, I prefer being a man with paradoxes than a man with prejudices.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau (via universoul)

(via commondense)


Mar 9
“Novels remind us that the hard questions matter, they always have, and that we can’t ignore them just because we’re comfortable, well-fed, sheltered, and secure. Maybe those same comforts, which give us time and leisure enough to read novels in the first place, are the very reason why we need them so badly. A great novel is always felt as a kind of gift, and here’s the strange thing: these gifts are heartbreaks we wouldn’t suffer, tears we wouldn’t shed, agonies we wouldn’t undergo, if we simply left the books alone and did something else with our time.” Brian Ted Jones (via millionsmillions)

Mar 6
Do you believe in impossible things?

Do you believe in impossible things?