Literary Quotes - Tumblr Posts - Page 3
But no artist, I now realize, can be satisfied with art alone. There is a natural craving for recognition which cannot be gain-said.
Agatha Christie, And Then There Were None
Just like fanfiction writers cannot be satisfied without comments or kudos, as much as we’d like to pretend otherwise.
(This is an excellent book if you’ve never read it, by the way.)
The clown turned his powdered face to the mirror. "If to be fair is to be beautiful," he said, "who can compare with me in my white mask?" "Who can compare with him in his white mask?" I asked of Death beside me. "Who can compare with me?" said Death, "for I am paler still." "You are very beautiful," sighed the clown, turning his powdered face from the mirror.
Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow
I can’t help imagining this as a conversation between the Possessive Mask (SCP-035), the Plague Doctor (SCP-049) and the Shy Guy (SCP-096). You can decide who is who, though I think we all know who the clown is. SCP-096 would probably be the palest, but his self-esteem is so low he likely wouldn’t make that connection.
Beach Prints
I see beautiful tragedies of life in the footprints prints on the beach , do you?
i sat down on the sea shore
as a visitor
only to find myself in an ocean of footprints
A sign of visitors
that walk over
pass by the beach
i looked down on my body
only to find myself drowned in those footprints
a sign of visitors
that once walked with me
now pass by me
these scars are just footprints then.
what do I think of them?
which ones i treasure
which ones i mourn
whatever I think of them,
they will remain on me , as a sign.
a sign of visitors
and just like that,
i found the proof of
every tear
every laughter
every time I felt sick of someone
every time I felt homesick for someone
i saw the tides gently wipe away some of these footprints while leaving the most
only to make space for more visitors to come
the visitors leave , their footprints stay
until another visitor walks over them
to create a new trail of these prints
they don't reach far beneath surface
but they are the decorations of sand
what do they teach me?
something beautiful
something tragic
i see the beautiful tragedies of life in the footprints on beach , do you?
"I worry sometimes About the ball of pressure that sits center mass in my chest. It humms the tune of electricity, and shakes the same. I worry when it shifts, It feels like a simple rotation could knock me over dead. I try not to worry. They say worrying is bad for your health; it’ll eat you whole. The more I ignore the ball of pressure the denser it becomes, The scarier it is to fall asleep. The less sure I am, I'll wake. I know better than to worry others about the trouble in my ribs. I put it there, they have their own problems to deal with. Still, when it humms too loud, I can’t help but feel the anxiety nip at my heels. I think I’ll go home for a little while. Maybe I’ll worry less."
-What Makes A Heart? (Where Is Home) Aik.
when sherlock said “taking your own life. interesting expression, taking it from who? once it's over, it's not you who'll miss it. your own death is something that happens to everyone else. your life is not your own, keep your hands off it.” i almost cried
Love's Tapestry....
“𝑵𝒐𝒘, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚. 𝑨𝒔 𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔. 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍, 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒆: 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐. 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆. 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚.”
-Dangerous Liaisons by Choderlos de Laclos
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:00 ♡ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆
08/02/2024 (20:40 p.m.)
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
Quote from Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes.
The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
August evenings are especially stricken with melancholy - as if the ghosts of all past summers came rushing to haunt my heart
from Letters of Summer Past (Listy Tamtego Lata) VI
"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."
Franz Kafka.
In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.
- Nietzsche
Little lives
If people ask me about my future and how I want it to play out I have a pretty specific picture in mind. I just know that I want to never loose sight of the little things. I want my little life filled with little libraries, big libraries, books and sunsets. I want good food and wine. I want my little life to be filled with laughter and a cozy bed full with pillows and big duvets with beautiful blue striped pillow cases. I want a slow life. A life in which I will wake up early in the mornings and move my body. I want tea on cold days and iced drinks on warm days and on short days when I miss summer in January or February because that’s just who I am. I want warm hugs and fireplaces. I want late nights at the beach and I want to sing. I would like to enjoy every summer from now on until the end of my life to the fullest. I want a summerhouse by a lake or by the sea. I want to wake up early to go for a swim eat delicious baked goods and drink coffee with oat milk. I want a life that is quiet and soft and full of happiness and lightness. I want the good and the bad. I want the good to overweight everything else though.
Am I overreacting ?? The question that haunts me constantly to the point idk if my emotions are valid, and so i ended up bottling 'em up till I was named the "cold emotionless rock at heart girl' all for hiding the little girl and her emotions inside the deepest corners of my heart and mind so that I can fight the reality while keeping her safe. The only way out for the suppressed emotions was to write 'em all, pouring every little thing I felt, staining the papers not only with ink but with many forbidden thoughts and forgotten feelings.
One of such overflowing midnight thoughts :
OVERREACTING??
Why shall I just react when I can overreact?
when I feel the flooding sarrow that's weighing my heart till I can't stand myself, why shall I just say 'I'm sorry' for things i never did or why shall I forgive, instead of writing a 50 page essay about how messed up you are to make me sick at mind and throw it on your face?!
when there's a 1000 volcanoes erupting inside me burning my insides to ashes till there's nothing left to feel, why shall I just say shut up and leave as if nothing happened when i can shout till I make ur ears bleed and ur eyes tear with guilt for the horrors you made me live in ?!
When I felt like a broken glass with a million pieces shattered around too afraid to walk on but too weak to pick them, why shall I cry in a corner voicing down my tone to not get caught hiding my pain when I can shatter your non existent pride making you aware of the deeds that brought me terror for your great satisfaction?!
...