The Lost and Found

Just write.

The Calm Between Chaos

There is lost and there is found,
but is there in-between—
a space where both
answers and questions
float but never touch, never see,
never quite resolve
the dilemmas we
find in our heads
or those that find our heads
and break our hearts and—

Is there a solution
to the in-between,
the gray of law,
where high ground is scarce
and floods are frequent

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep”

—   W.B. Yeats

(Source: observando)


Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan


Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan

“My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it.”

—   Ursula K. Le Guin

(Source: observando)


Just because you write about it doesn’t mean it stops hurting.

(via itspeytonsplace)

O Me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?


That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

—   Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

(Source: observando)

“I do believe in poetry. I believe that there are creatures endowed with the power to put things together and bring them back to life”

—   Helene Cixous, The Book of Promethea (via stealingintolanguage)

(via englishmajorinrepair)

“Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall.”

—   Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(Source: observando)

“Time takes life away
and gives us memory, gold with flame,
black with embers.”

—   Adam Zagajewski, from “Shell” in Mysticism for Beginners, trans. Clare Cavanagh (via litverve)

(via englishmajorinrepair)

“I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore.”

—   Marguerite Duras, from Hiroshima, Mon Amour

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

“Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.”

—   Novalis

(Source: observando)


It carries a chipped frame
enfolding a sharp, jagged spine:


lungs don’t fail me now


lungs don’t fail me now

(via englishmajorinrepair)

Ever finished a book? I mean, truly finished one? Cover to cover. Closed the spine with that slow awakening that comes with reentering consciousness?

You take a breath, deep from the bottom of your lungs and sit there. Book in both hands, your head staring down at the cover, back page or wall in front of you.

You’re grateful, thoughtful, pensive. You feel like a piece of you was just gained and lost. You’ve just experienced something deep, something intimate… Full from the experience, the connection, the richness that comes after digesting another soul.


It’s no surprise that readers are better people. Having experienced someone else’s life through abstract eyes, they’ve learned what it’s like to leave their bodies and see the world through other frames of reference. They have access to hundreds of souls, and the collected wisdom of all them.


Beautiful read on why readers are, “scientifically,” the best people to date

Perhaps Kafka’s timeless contention that books are "the axe for the frozen sea inside us" applies equally to the frozen sea between us. 

(via explore-blog)

neil will love this one.

(via amandapalmer)

(via teacoffeebooks)