The only thing I have learned from life is to endure it, never to question it, and to burn up the longing generated by this in writing.
-Karl Ove Knausgaard, “A Death in the Family” (via writteninsentences)
I’d like to know: once you’re happy what happens? What comes next?
— Near the Wild Heart, Clarice Lispector
Inside her it was as if death didn’t exist, as if love could weld her, as if eternity were renewal.
— Near the Wild Heart, Clarice Lispector
The result of those days wandering here and there, repudiating and loving the same things a thousand times over. Of those nights living on dark and silent, the tiny stars winking up high. The woman lying on the bed, vigilant eye in the half-light. The hazy white bed swimming in darkness.
— Near the Wild Heart, Clarice Lispector
Atlas Hands— Benjamin Francis Leftwich
(Source: drugsanonymous)
Cendrine Rovini - L’implongée, 2012 Drawings
I asked her if she believed in love, and she smiled and said it was her most elaborate method of self-harm
