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Find what you love and let it kill you.—Charles Bukowski
8

Another year only - Mahmoud Darwish

ews-room:

My friends,
Those yet left alive among you
Will let me live another year
Another year only
To love a thousand women
And a thousand cities.

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The Bitter Tea Of General Yen(1933) dir. by Frank Capra
14"

I returned home with a feeling of absolute loneliness.

Usually that feeling of being alone in the world is accompanied by a condescending sense of superiority. I scorn all humankind; people around me seem vile, sordid, stupid, greedy, gross, niggardly. I do not fear solitude ; it is almost Olympian.

That night, like many other nights, I was alone as a consequence of my own failings, my own depravity. At such times the world seems despicable, even though I know that I am necessarily a part of it. Then a frenzy to obliterate everything sweeps over me ; I let myself be seduced by the temptation of suicide ; I get drunk ; I look for prostitutes. I receive a certain satisfaction from proving my own baseness, in confirming that I am no better than the lowest of the low around me.

" - Ernesto Sabato, from The Tunnel

"Why must the world suffer such misery? Why must there be such inexplicable pain? As the days passed, i came to understand. I realised that, in the end, the answers were not for human beings to know, that our work is simply to ease the great suffering of the world. To have the courage to face the suffering, senselessness and irrationality without fear, to find the strength to create peace by one’s own example."

-The Burmese Harp(1956) dir. by Kon Ichikawa

7

dabacahin:

I go inside and shut the window.
The lamp is brought and I’m told good night.
And my voice contentedly says good night.
May this be my life, now and always:
The day bright with sunshine, or gentle with rain,
Or stormy as if the world were ending,
The evening gentle and my eyes attentive
To the people passing by my window,
With my last friendly gaze going to the peaceful trees,
And then, window shut and the lamp lit,
Without reading or sleeping and thinking of nothing,
To feel life flowing through me like a river between its banks,
And outside a great silence like a god who is sleeping.

Fernando Pessoa, XLIX, from “The Keeper of Sheep,” in A Little Larger Than the Entire Universe: Selected Poems (edited and translated by Richard Zenith)

16"

I want nothing else, only a hand,
a wounded hand, if possible.
I want nothing else, only a hand,
though I spend a thousand nights without a bed.

It would be a pale lily of lime,
a dove tethered fast to my heart.
It would be the guard who, on the night of my death,
would block entrance absolutely to the moon.

I want nothing else, only that hand,
for the daily unctions and my agony’s white sheet.
I want nothing else, only that hand,
to carry a wing of my own death.

Everything else all passes away.
Now blush without name. Perpetual star.
Everything else is something else: sad wind,
while the leaves flee, whirling in flocks.

" - Federico Garcia Lorca, "Qasida of the impossible Hand"
35"The tragedy of love is not death or separation.[…]The tragedy of love is indifference." - W. Somerset Maugham, from The Trembling of a Leaf

Breathless(1960) dir. by Jean-Luc Godard
4

-My heart shatters on the thought that there are beautiful souls as you in the world amid so much useless noise and din.

-Oh don’t be so sad, as long as there are equally beautiful souls like you for us to open our hearts to, we will survive. I believe that people like us try to find each other in this noise and din and try to build our own little world of quiet, which is what is in process now. And at the end of the day, when we have battled with all the world have chucked at us, we come back to this world to find solace.

-I can stay cocooned within those words for long. So much light on a dark night.
-heartwarming conversation with M— during a rainy night walk

14"He, who has never felt alone in the miles of longitude between desert towns. A man in a desert can hold absence in his cupped hands knowing it is something that feeds him more than water. There is a plant he knows near El Taj, whose heart, if one cuts it out, is replaced with a fluid containing herbal goodness. Every morning one can drink the liquid the amount of a missing heart. The plant continues to flourish for a year before it dies from some lack or other." - Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient (via rusticreveries)

Cassavetes on Cassavetes.
11

"I am like a train/ rushing for many years now/ between the city of Yes/ and the city of No."
-Yevgeny Yevtushenko


~Bloke Modisane
14"

a grin without a
face (a look
without an i)
be care

ful (touch noth
ing) or it’ll disapp
ear bangl

essly (into sweet
the earth) &
nobody
(including our

selves)
will reme
mber
(for 1 frac
tion of
a mo
ment) where
what how

when
who why
which
(or anything)

" - e.e. cummings, from Complete Poems
/ past