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(via nevver)


Body and soul can never be married

I need to become who I already am and will bellow forever at this incongruity which has committed me to hell

Insoluble hoping cannot uphold me

I will drown in dysphoria
in the cold black pond of my self the pit of my immaterial mind

How can I return to form
now my formal thought has gone?

Not a life that I could countenance.

They will love me for that which destroys me the sword in my dreams
the dust of my thoughts

the sickness that breeds in the folds of my mind

“There’s power in the touch of another person’s hand. We acknowledge it in little ways, all the time. There’s a reason human beings shake hands, hold hands, slap hands, bump hands. It comes from our very earliest memories, when we all come into the world blinded by light and color, deafened by riotous sound, flailing in a suddenly cavernous space without any way of orienting ourselves, shuddering with cold, emptied with hunger, and justifiably frightened and confused. And what changes that first horror, that original state of terror? The touch of another person’s hands. Hands that wrap us in warmth, that hold us close. Hands that guide us to shelter, to comfort, to food. Hands that hold and touch and reassure us through our very first crisis, and guide us into our very first shelter from pain. The first thing we ever learn is that the touch of someone else’s hand can ease pain and make things better. That’s power. That’s power so fundamental that most people never even realize it exists.”

—   Jim Butcher, Skin Game (via wordsnquotes)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.”

—   Yara Bashraheel (via sigh-twombly)

(Source: yarotica, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“'There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name.'”

“You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.”

—   John Green (via psych-quotes)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back.”

—   Plato (via kirgiakos)

(Source: missfolly, via kirgiakos)

“We make each other alive; it doesn’t make a difference if it hurts.”

—   Ingmar Bergman, from a letter to Liv Ullmann, cited in "Liv & Ingmar" (2012)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.”

—   Samuel Beckett, Molloy (via journalofanobody)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“And silence, like darkness, can be kind; it, too, is a language.”


Hanif Kureishi, from Intimacy (Scribner, 1999)

(Source: freyjageist, via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“'People have forgotten this truth', the fox said. 'But you musn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose.'”

—   Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince (via bookmania)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.”

—   Jean-Paul Sartre, from The Sellected Essays (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)


L. Bourgeois. 10 AM is when you come to me, 2006.


L. Bourgeois. 10 AM is when you come to me, 2006.

(via starslokk)

Claude Cahun
Untitled (Jawbone on a tray with objects) ca. 1936

Vintage gelatin silver print

Claude Cahun

Untitled (Jawbone on a tray with objects) ca. 1936

Vintage gelatin silver print

(Source: kirgiakos)


Louise Bourgeois