FASTREADER

I still feel that poetry is not medicine — it’s an X-ray. It helps you see the wound and understand it.

—Dunya Mikhail, from an interview (via mitochondria)

(via atomized)

If Christianity is going to mean anything at all for us now, then the humanity of God cannot be a half measure. He can’t float over the chaos of pain and particles in which we’re mired, and we can’t think of him gliding among our ancestors like some shiny, sinless superhero.

—Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss, p. 17 (via recycledsoul)

thewritingbody:

The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is, on the whole, better even than after sex—and that’s saying a lot.
- Anne Sexton

thewritingbody:

The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is, on the whole, better even than after sex—and that’s saying a lot.

- Anne Sexton

(Source: , via fuckyeahannesexton)

I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.

—Katherine Mansfield (via jimmorrisonlives)

they say
that the body
repairs itself
at night
when we but sleep,
i always wondered though
when do we
repair our souls.

Della Hicks-Wilsonhealing (via poemusicoffee)

(Source: dellahickswilson, via poemusicoffee)

A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.

—Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays (via merkanzee)

(via fuckyeahsartrecamus)

You have to be careful telling things.
Some ears are tunnels.
Your words will go in and get lost in the dark.
Some ears are flat pans like the miners used
looking for gold.

What you say will be washed out with the stones.
You look for a long time till you find the right ears.
Till then, there are birds and lamps to be spoken to,
a patient cloth rubbing shine in circles,
and the slow, gradually growing possibility
that when you find such ears
they already know.

Naomi Shihab Nye, “You Have to Be Careful”, in Words Under the Words (via hiddenshores)

(via birdonwing)

True, I have many voices. I speak like a let-down lover, a diarist, a social critic, straight sass. I fear I am everything, which of course amounts to being nothing.

—Lauren Slater, Prozac Diary (via ikeepsingingthissong)

metaphorformetaphor:

Her heart pained her; she was stifling under a huge weight that she suddenly discovered she had been dragging around for twenty years. Now she was struggling under it with all her strength. She wanted to be liberated even if Marcel, even if the others, never were!

—Albert Camus, from “The Adulterous Woman,” Exile and the Kingdom (Vintage, 1958)

We must have one love, one great love in our life, since it gives us an alibi for all the moments when we are filled with despair.

—Albert Camus, Notebooks (1935-1942)

(Source: larmoyante)

There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.

Albert Camus (via feellng)