Yo no vine a matar a nadie, yo vine a morir por Puerto Rico. — Lolita Lebrón
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason. — Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via paperzeppelin)
Gian Lorenzo Bernini Ecstasy of Saint Teresa (detail)
Mental excess could produce, for its own purposes, the voluntary blindness and deafness of deliberate solitude, the artificial impotence of asceticism. — Aldous Huxley, “Brave New World”
He nears the lighter to my face and says, “You look better with a cigarette in your mouth.”
Don’t you want to go where the rainbow ends? — Eyes Wide Shut (1999)
Cloisters in former times portrayed on their high walls
The truths of Holy Writ with fitting pictures
Which gladdened pious hearts and lessened the coldness,
The austere appearance, of those monasteries.
In those days the sowing of Christ’s Gospel flourished,
And more than one famed monk, seldom quoted today,
Taking his inspiration from the graveyard,
Glorified Death with naive simplicity.
— My soul is a tomb where, bad cenobite,
I wander and dwell eternally;
Nothing adorns the walls of that loathsome cloister.
O lazy monk! When shall I learn to make
Of the living spectacle of my bleak misery
The labor of my hands and the love of my eyes?
‘Don’t you want to join us?’ I was recently asked by an acquaintance when he ran across me alone after midnight in a coffeehouse that was already almost deserted. ‘No, I don’t,’ I said. — Franz Kafka