chandelyer:

“Autumn was my happiness. Beauty at the point of tears.”

— Günter Eich, tr. by Judy Gaghan, from Poems; “Sun In October Mist,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)

local-deadpoet:

i literally have to romanticize almost everything or else i get sad

howelljenkins:

howelljenkins:

reading the right book is like seeing a chiropractor

“I learned absolutely nothing, but some minor adjustment was made within me, some imperceptible shift that occurs only when I encounter wonder and awe, the best art.” – Yaa Gyasi

ashstfu:

reading alone in your room at sunset with your windows open while the wind caresses your skin is probably the closest thing we have to a cure for the human condition

bunlly:

“I don’t like work–no man does–but I like what is in the work–the chance to find yourself. Your own reality–for yourself not for others–what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.”

— Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness