a scrapbook of quottes and inspirations compiled by Kim Adrian
"Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again."
—Andre Gide
Things outlast us, they know more about us than we know about them: they carry the experience they have had with us inside them and are—in fact—the book of our history opened before us.
I just try to make a poem that can think its own thoughts.
— Lisa Robertsion (via Northern Poetry Review)
the-rx:

“I sat for decades at morning breakfast tea looking out my kitchen window, one day recognized my own world the familiar background, a giant wet brick-walled undersea Atlantis garden, waving ailanthus (“stinkweed”) “Trees of Heaven,” with chimney pots along Avenue A topped by Stuyvesant Town apartments’ upper floors two blocks distant on 14th Street, I focus’d on the raindrops along the clothesline. “Things are symbols of themselves,” said Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche. New York City August 18, 1984- Allen Ginsberg, Photograph”
From jaqsmannequin, 
luzfosca

the-rx:

“I sat for decades at morning breakfast tea looking out my kitchen window, one day recognized my own world the familiar background, a giant wet brick-walled undersea Atlantis garden, waving ailanthus (“stinkweed”) “Trees of Heaven,” with chimney pots along Avenue A topped by Stuyvesant Town apartments’ upper floors two blocks distant on 14th Street, I focus’d on the raindrops along the clothesline. “Things are symbols of themselves,” said Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche. New York City August 18, 1984- Allen Ginsberg, Photograph”

From jaqsmannequin

luzfosca


thegameofart:

Tristan Tzara-1928

thegameofart:

Tristan Tzara-1928

(via in-ois-oisou)


Human consciousness: is it the projector
or the screen?
Great literature is written in a sort of foreign language. To each sentence we attach a meaning, or at any rate a mental image, which is often a mistranslation. But in great literature all our mistranslations result in beauty.
— Marcel Proust (via frauleinzooey)

(via literarycondition)

littlemeadowlark:

Blind children studying the hippopotamus, 1914

littlemeadowlark:

Blind children studying the hippopotamus, 1914

(Source: birdsbrambles, via holdthisphoto)


the-rx:

Studies in Passions and Emotions (1881)

the-rx:

Studies in Passions and Emotions (1881)


Language is my whore, my mistress, my wife, my pen-friend, my check-out girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God, the dew on a fresh apple, it’s the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning sun when you pull from an old bookshelf a forgotten volume of erotic diaries; language is the faint scent of urine on a pair of boxer shorts, it’s a half-remembered childhood birthday party, a creak on the stair, a spluttering match held to a frosted pane, the warm wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred Panzer, the underside of a granite boulder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl, cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.
— Stephen Fry (via the-rx)

(Source: criminalsofpurpose, via the-rx)

weavemunchers:

my personality is 30% the last movie I watched

(via maypoet)

(Source: eirameinnoc, via paullepaulp)

So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange and stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language - and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers - a language powerful enough to say how it is.
— Jeanette Winterson (via kathleenjoy)

(via airwalker)

weissewiese:

W. H. Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening
(read by Tom Hiddleston)



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