“Both light and shadow are the dance of Love.
Love has no cause, it is the astrolabe of God’s secrets.
Lover and loving are inseparable and timeless.
Although I may try to describe love,
when I experience it, I am speechless.
Although I may try to write about love, I am rendered helpless.
My pen breaks, and the paper slips away
at the ineffable place where lover loving and loved are one.
Every moment is made glorious by the light of Love.”
But silence is by no means a sign of acquiescence. It often happens that we are silent because we realize the uselessness of speech.
em>Athens and Jerusalem (via the-heart-of-the-lion)
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via perfect)
I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself–as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What’s missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I’m still the same old incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I guess that lack itself is as close as I’ll come to defining myself.
Haruki Murakami, "South of the Border, West of the Sun" (via winonaryderfanclub)
I believe that words uttered in passion contain a greater living truth than do those words which express thoughts rationally conceived. It is blood that moves the body. Words are not meant to stir the air only: they are capable of moving greater things.
Sōseki Natsume, Kokoro (via larmoyante)
Then a woman said, “Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.”
And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Khalil Gibran, The Prophet (via sinthematica)
maybe that’s why as english speakers we use ‘like’ and ‘um’ so much, we are always searching for words that aren’t there.
nayyirah waheed (via winonaryderfanclub)
I have a deep fear of being too much. That one day
I will find my someone, and they will realize that I am
a hurricane. That they will step back and be intimidated
by my muchness.
sadlittlewords, Rumbles From My Head (via 263one)
Time goes faster the more hollow it is. Lives with no meaning go straight past you, like trains that don’t stop at your station.
Carlos Ruiz Zafrón, from The Shadow of the Wind (Penguin Books, 2005)