my small, meaningless lies. I need
all my self-created semi-truths. It’s the only way for me to keep exclusive parts of myself to myself. Believe me, I do not even perceive them as lies
. It’s something different that keeps happening inside my head. At the same time, I long to tell you the truth about me, always. I want to share with you each important or unimportant detail and feel
and fully embrace the very act of sharing. But it occurs to me that it’s the hardests of tasks; I hate it. I hate unveiling bits and pieces of anything permanent or temporary that resides in me. I loathe it with my heart. You can find more honesty in the smallest of my gestures rather in my words; my words are too impatient, too loose, too doomed in some way."
— Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1 (via violentwavesofemotion)
how do we know there are no cactuses out there breaking the law right now
"For the record, being happy and goofy is way more fun than being depressed and cool."
— Earl Sweatshirt
there are some figures so shrouded in myth that historians cannot conclusively say they did or did not exist and it is that ideal that i aspire to
"William Fifield: Can you say something about inspiration?
Jean Cocteau: [The gaunt, fine hands on the thorax; evacuation of the chest; a great breathing out from himself] It is not inspiration; it is expiration."
From The Paris Review article Jean Cocteau, The Art of Fiction No. 34, summer/fall 1964
(Source: jeannemcright, via vererum)
"Producer gave me a beat, said it’s the beat of the year
I said El-P didn’t do it, so get the fuck outta here"
— Run the Jewels, Banana Clipper
did you guys know that I have an ask box
"Life, life is all right on the Rhine
No, but I know, but I know
I would have nowhere to go
No, but there’s nowhere to go, to go"
— Beirut, Rhineland (Heartland)
"I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias
"Yes, I do enjoy walking at night. The world’s more to my liking then, not so loud, not so fast, not so crowded, and a good deal more mysterious."
— Cornelia Funke (via valley-child)
(Source: hellanne, via vnshd)