Intentions

Sorry I broke you. I was just trying to help.

All Things Must Pass

Feliz Cumpleaños George

Green Blood

I’m like dynamite. Need a cheerleader. Let me throw you down while I look at her.



I’m like, “Oh my god, I think I need a girlfriend"

Fuck all you bad boys

The thing that you want

111th birthday

There are those

There are those who seek the love of a woman to forget her, to not think about her.

It's not forever now

Every time we're up, we're falling down.

From the Roof

in this world 
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers 

-kobayashi issa

Genuine

Genuine love comes from knowledge, not from a sense of duty or guilt.

Toska

Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.

Vladimir Nabokov, cited in A F

Roller Coaster

We ask everything of love. We ask it to be anarchic. We ask it to be the glue that holds the family together, that allows society to be orderly and allows all kinds of material processes to be transmitted from one generation to another. But I think that the connection between love and sex is very mysterious. Part of the modern ideology of love is to assume that love and sex always go together. They can, I suppose, but I think rather to the detriment of either one or the other. And probably the greatest problem for human beings is that they just don’t. And why do people want to be in love? That’s really interesting. Partly, they want to be in love the way you want to go on a roller coaster again — even knowing you’re going to have your heart broken.


Susan Sontag

Via Brainpickings

Haruki

Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time.

-Kafka on the Shore

Chat Noir

“I want to hear raucous music, to see faces, to brush against bodies, to drink fiery Benedictine. Beautiful women and handsome men arouse fierce desires in me. I want to dance. I want drugs. I want to know perverse people, to be intimate with them. I never look at naive faces. I want to bite into life, and to be torn by it.”


Anaïs Nin

Noviembre 2011

Dejame quitarte el zapato izquierdo

dejame quitarte el derecho.

A Modern Invention

The desire for fulfilling work — a job that provides a deep sense of purpose, and reflects our values, passions and personality — is a modern invention. … For centuries, most inhabitants of the Western world were too busy struggling to meet their subsistence needs to worry about whether they had an exciting career that used their talents and nurtured their wellbeing. But today, the spread of material prosperity has freed our minds to expect much more from the adventure of life.

We have entered a new age of fulfillment, in which the great dream is to trade up from money to meaning.

Otro Mar

«¿Para quién mis manos trabajaron? ¿Para quién se gastó la sangre de mi corazón? No he obtenido merced alguna para mí. ¡pero sí que logré una merced para el león de la tierra! ¡Y la marea la llevará a veinte leguas de distancia! Cuando abrí la cañería y... el año, hallé lo que se había puesto como señal para mí: ¡Me retiraré, y dejaré la barca en la orilla!» 

A Fortunate Accident

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush, I am telling you some truths. That is just being ‘in love’, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.


-Louis de Bernières in Corelli’s Mandolin

Never lasted

From a lonely drunkenness

Over and over again I sail towards joy, which is never in the room with me, but always near me, across the way, like those rooms full of gayety one sees from the street, or the gayety in the street one sees from a window. Will I ever reach joy? It hides behind the turning merry-go-round of the traveling circus. As soon as I approach it, it is no longer joy. Joy is a foam, an illumination. I am poorer and hungrier for the want of it. When I am in the dance, joy is outside in the elusive garden. When I am in the garden, I hear it exploding from the house. When I am traveling, joy settles like an aurora borealis over the land I leave. When I stand on the shore I see it bloom on the flag of a departing ship. What joy? Have I not possessed it? I want the joy of simple colors, street organs, ribbons, flags, not a joy that takes my breath away and throws me into space alone where no one else can breathe with me, not the joy that comes from a lonely drunkenness. There are so many joys, but I have only known the ones that come like a miracle, touching everything with light.

Anaïs Nin

De Hombres

Como gato,

en espera que regrese el pescador.