What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms. — Kobayashi Issa, Poems (via journalofanobody)
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. — Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
My loneliness can’t even be described: I’ve forgotten how to talk, and I surprise myself even if I accidentally say a loud word. For going on four weeks now I haven’t heard my own voice. — Fyodor Dostoevsky in a letter to his wife, Anna Dostoevskaya, 28 August 1879 (via gypsji)
(Source: ivankaramazovs, via eclektic)
Abbott Handerson Thayer, Half Draped Figure
(Source: artistdujour, via thisivyhouse)
The Osma Beatus. Apocalypse Liébana. 1086.
Pier Paolo Pasolini
(Source: lookinbackon99, via eclektic)
Our imagination flies — we are its shadow on the earth. — Vladimir Nabokov (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)