form is emptiness and emptiness is form

"There’s something dripping in my head.
A heart, a heart in my head."
Samuel Beckett, from “Endgame(via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

— 22 hours ago with 868 notes
"I’ve been buried under with the dust and rubbish. But now, here’s the spring …"
Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Vita [1935], from The Letters of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf   (via seols)

(Source: anenlighteningellipses, via lifeinpoetry)

— 2 days ago with 588 notes
"Wherever you are,
out of the cup of the night,
you pour over me.
From the bottom of hours,
you call to me and I come."
Peregrine (via youreyesblazeout)
— 4 days ago with 61 notes

every year you have more to lose
but you can choose to bury your past
in the garden by the tulips
water it until it’s so alive
it lets go
and you belong to yourself

When you belong to yourself again
Remember forgiveness
is not a tidy grave
It is a ready loyal knight kneeling before your royal heart

Call in your royal heart
Tell it bravery cannot be measured by a lack of fear
It takes guts to tremble

excerpt from Royal Heart, Andrea Gibson (via fegegtas)

(via whisperingbones)

— 6 days ago with 170 notes
#andrea gibson 

Kokedama - Fuorisalone 8-13.04 2014, Milan

— 1 week ago
#fuorisalone  #milan 
"Nostalgia in reverse,
the longing for
yet another strange land."
Vladimir Nabokov, from Mary (McGraw Hill, 1970, first published in 1926)

(Source: drunk-on-books, via theantidote)

— 1 week ago with 1457 notes
#vladimir nabokov 
Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia by night

"When the night comes, the starry sky reflects on its surface like in a mirror, and you have the feeling of being in space."

(Source: tsumetaiyozora, via commovente)

— 1 week ago with 219746 notes

I try to be good but sometimes
a person just has to break out and
act like the wild and springy thing
one used to be. It’s impossible not
to remember wild and want it back. So

if someday you can’t find me you might
look into that tee or—of course
it’s possible—under it.

Mary Oliver, closing lines to “Green, Green is My Sister’s House,” from A Thousand Mornings (Penguin Press, 2012)

(Source: apoetreflects, via journalofanobody)

— 1 week ago with 212 notes
"Beyond my anxiety, beyond this writing,
the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting."
Jorge Luis Borges (via fuckyeahjorgeluisborges)

(via journalofanobody)

— 1 week ago with 903 notes