When Sylvia Plath Wrote The Silence Depressed Me. It Wasnt The Silence Of Silence. It Was My Own Silence.

 when sylvia plath wrote “the silence depressed me. it wasn’t the silence of silence. it was my own silence.” and when anne carson wrote “why does tragedy exist? because you are full of rage. why are you full of rage? because you are full of grief.” and when jenny slate wrote “and i am getting older but i am not growing up and my heart is getting soft dark spots on it like a fruit that has gone bad.” and when virginia woolf wrote “to want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain.” and when susanna kaysen wrote “when you’re sad, you need to hear your sorrow structured into sound.” and when margaret atwood wrote “already my childhood seemed far away – a remote age, faded and bittersweet, like dried flowers. did i regret its loss, did i want it back? i didn’t think so…” and when gillian flynn wrote “i was not a lovable child, and i’d grown into a deeply unlovable adult.”

Love Will Kill Us All Someday, Michael Markaley // Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare // Sacred and Profane Love, Giovanni Baglione // Getting Ready to Say I Love You to My Dad, It Rains, José Olivarez // Self Portrait as a Hairpin Turn, Yves Olade // Love and Pain, Edvard Munch // Crush, Richard Siken // Achilles Come Down, Gang of Youths

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“You love him, you do, and here’s the miracle: he loves you too. You are allowed to lick off the colour from his lips to listen to the hymns in his pulse to bask in the sunlight of his voice You are allowed to have him. You love each other, you do, and here’s the tragedy: it’s not enough. You are allowed to watch the sun swallow him whole and burn him up to stain your fingers to the bone holding him together to count the constellations in his eyes as they blink out You are not allowed to save him.”

— you can love him, but you can’t keep him ( j.p. )

“People never leave a sinking ship until they see the lights of another ship approaching.”

— R. Buckminster Fuller

I am talking about evil. It blooms. It eats. It grins.

Glass, Irony and God, ‘The Fall of Rome: A Traveller’s Guide’ by Anne Carson (via decreation)