June 2012
109 posts
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If God is for us, who can be against us?
– Romans 8:31 (via thelittlephilosopher)
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How quiet I am and my private life is. Silence is my boyfriend.
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npr:
Hipsters Under Control: The End of Subculture?
“The Big Data collectors (Facebook, Amazon, Google, etc.) are so good at spotting the development of subcultures that soon, Venkat says, they will be creating and controlling them for their own (or their clients) market exploitation.”
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That is why the contemplative person, without ever leaving his village, will...
– Fernando Pessoa - The Book of Disquiet (with thanks to fernandopessoa-is-not-for-you and wine-loving-vagabond)
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Of the many mysteries attending Plath (for example, whether or not she’d meant...
– Heidi Julavits, The Vanishers (via awritersruminations)
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I don’t need legs anymore,
Let them turn into a fish’s tail!
I’m swimming and...
– [“I don’t need legs anymore”] by Anna Akhmatova, trans. Judith Hemschemeyer (via growing-orbits)
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Albert Einstein was the man I wanted to marry, besides Carl Jung.
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Imagine you’re at a party. A guy offers you a drink. You say no. He says “Come...
– The art of “no,” continued: Saying no when you’ve already said yes. « CaptainAwkward.com
(via heavenearthandhoratio)
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Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.
– Carl Jung (via naturae-filius)
Murder is the unlawful killing,…
– unlawful killing…. (via himono-onna)
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You don’t want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don’t want to tell...
– Mary Oliver, from “Dogfish”, in Dream Work (via growing-orbits)
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“Look,” Mother Says
growing-orbits:
by Anna Kamieńska
“Look,” mother says in my dream, “Look, a bird soars up to the clouds. Why don’t you write about it, How heavy it is, how swift?
“And here on the table—the smell Of bread, a tinkling of plates. You don’t need to speak of me again. There is no me where I rest. “I’ve passed, I’ve ceased, It’s enough for me: goodnight!” So I write this poem about birds, About...
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Only a salt kiss remains
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Triggers to Tears II
INFJs. (It’s a good thing.)
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Study me as much as you like, you will never know me, for i differ a hundred...
– Rumi (via bloodisthenewblackk)