Words That Will Come To Life Before Your Eyes
Thanks & Enjoy! :)
A poem begins with a lump in the throat.
Robert Frost (via scabpicker)
(Source: words-in-lines, via squibbs)
19203I sit before flowers
hoping they will train me in the art
of opening up
The Student, Shane Koyczan (via wethinkwedream)
(Source: buddhacoffee, via peacetranquility)
There are possibilities for me, certainly, but under what stone do they lie?
Franz Kafka, Diaries (1914)
(Source: likeafieldmouse)
I’ve been wandering in the greenwoods
And mid flowery smiling plains
I’ve been listening to the dark floods
To the thrushes thrilling strainsI have gathered the pale primrose
And the purple violet sweet
I’ve been where the Asphodel grows
And where lives the red deer fleet.I’ve been to the distant mountain,
To the silver singing rill
By the crystal murmering mountain,
And the shady verdant hill.I’ve been where the poplar is springing
From the fair inamelled ground
Where the nightingale is singing
With a solemn plaintive sound.A tiny handwritten poem by 13-year-old Charlotte Brontë. Also see handwritten poems by Mark Twain and Marilyn Monroe.
I opened “You slut” and found church pews
I opened church pews and found desperation
I opened desperation and found music
I opened music and found my father
I opened my father and found my broken heart
I opened my heart and found you leaving me
I opened leaving and found “You are impossible to love”
I opened “Impossible” and found a scream
I opened a scream and found childhood.
I opened childhood and found a swingset
I opened swingsets and found first kisses
I opened first kisses and found scared mothers
I opened scared mothers and found my mother
I opened my mother and found a scream.
Let’s Start With The Insult, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)
I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books.
C. S. Lewis (via 4mbivalent)
When you go into the ER, one of the first things they ask you to do is rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, and from there they decide which drugs to use and how quickly to use them. I’d been asked this question hundreds of times over the years, and I remember once early on when I couldn’t get my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire, flames licking the inside of my ribs fighting for a way to burn out of my body, my parents took me to the ER. nurse asked me about the pain, and I couldn’t even speak, so I held up nine fingers.
Later, after they’d given me something, the nurse came in and she was kind of stroking my head while she took my blood pressure and said, ‘You know how I know you’re a fighter? You called a ten a nine.’
But that wasn’t quite right. I called it a nine because I was saving my ten. And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating faceup on the water, undrowned.
Hazel Grace, The Fault In Our Stars by John Green (a book so exquisite it’s about to spend its 40th consecutive week on the NYT bestseller list). You can read it for yourself, if you like: http://dft.ba/-tfiosindie
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“the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating faceup on the water, undrowned.”
(via hermionejg)
(via hermionejg)
And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.
Roald Dahl (via larmoyante)
