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December 17 2012

December 11 2012

It's not Shakespeare but George Santayana:

The earth has its music for those who will listen,
Its bright variations forever abound;
With all the wonders that God has bequeathed us,
There is nothing that thrills like the magic of sound.

Reposted byimmuff immuff

December 03 2012

Instructions

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never

saw before.

Say "please" before you open the latch,

go through,

walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted

front door,

as a knocker,

do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat

nothing.

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,

feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,

clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,

if you can,

ease its pain.


From the back garden you will be able to see the

wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's

realm;

there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,

you can walk back, safely;

you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.


Once through the garden you will be in the

wood.

The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under-

growth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She

may ask for something;

give it to her. She

will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve

months sit about a fire,

warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.

You may pick strawberries in December's frost.

Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where

you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-

man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to

leave the boat.

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)


If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that

witches are often betrayed by their appetites;

dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;

hearts can be well-hidden,

and you betray them with your tongue.


Do not be jealous of your sister.

Know that diamonds and roses

are as uncomfortable when they tumble from

one's lips as toads and frogs:

colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.


Remember your name.

Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped

to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.

Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.

Do not look back.

Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).

Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).

Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).


There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is

why it will not stand.


When you reach the little house, the place your

journey started,

you will recognize it, although it will seem

much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate

you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest.

Neil Gaiman
Reposted bykusiolulvarRacuchmagdaniliasiupsanczoNanutkakilljillsiriusminervacptcrazydreamermargothh

December 01 2012

It was only the sea sounding weary
After so many lifetimes
Of pretending to be rushing off somewhere
And never getting anywhere.
Late September, Charles Simic
Reposted byPandaAttackMoonTideMyBlackWings

November 24 2012

by e.e. cummings
Reposted fromidzsobie idzsobie

November 23 2012

November 22 2012

Little Beast, Richard Siken.
Reposted bykilljillimmuff

November 18 2012

Wisława Szymborska, The Three Oddest Words.
Reposted bymaraskowapapajadrusill-arepostedfromfoxdenryskacheathaMagoryanblacktoblackwonderlustqueengotohellulvarAndii-Vimmuffpinggwinprosiaczekktediousuncleidz-pan-w-cholerehahatdupiday1410absinthicmakingmoviesMoonTidegosialapyurikomnrsjustonebreathebufthe-devil12d3marvelaxkilljillsiriusminervaq-raikayurafiiHigh-KeyiammegainTeereaPorcelainnibotstrangerthankindnessodessa2thesilenceofthealcoholicanosognosiadrunkmetalgirlVergilwalkingchaossorry-mrs-fillyjonkkleinbowmartitikusioljaskiertwistedlogicpunktosprinceravenmalilimemegara

November 15 2012

[A miracle, just take a look around:
the world is everywhere.]

An additional miracle, as everything is additional:
the unthinkable
is thinkable.
Wisława Szymborska, from "A Miracle"
Reposted bykusioltwistedlogic
William Wordsworth, She Was a Phantom of Delight.
Reposted bymagdanestorno-longer-koreabonimationprzytulankimooncatjobi

November 13 2012

She lives the poetry she cannot write.
— Oscar Wilde
Reposted fromidzsobie idzsobie viamuviell muviell

November 12 2012

Original manuscript of Wilfred Owen's "Anthem for Doomed Youth", showing Siegfried Sassoon's revisions.
Read by Sean Bean here.
Reposted frommargotblue margotblue

November 11 2012

"I disappear" by 367th.
Reposted byatrantavertheerscarletbluenettle-carrierkatastrofomalinowykisielcuilwarthien666phantasmagoriaoddychaniebackgrounddrejk-edumbscreamaciafavouriteworstnightmareBloodyHearteredvarethwishyouwerehereinsanedreamerNicTuPoMnieMcHarveymagdanestorlikearollingstonegosialapfindesieclemysteriousnjamaCuukierekjobiglasgowkissamfibijnebackgroundtbtf

November 08 2012

“Lighting new cigarettes,
pouring more
drinks.

It has been a beautiful
fight.

Still
is.

You Get So Alone at Time That it Just Makes Sense, Charles Bukowski
Reposted bymuviellgotohell

October 28 2012

Four Quartets: East Coker, T. S. Eliot.
Reposted bymuviellirimasiriusminerva

October 21 2012

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn...
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth...

And you learn and learn...

With every good-bye you learn.
Jorge Luis Borges, You Learn
Reposted byDuWeldenvardenmadialenegrawklasyolewkahaszraaimmuffpromyczekmayflowermhhmnieuczesanemyslinerdyliciousirima

September 24 2012

Portrait of a Lady, T. S. Eliot.
Reposted byno-longer-korerepostedfromgoniewiczkilljillstumblebeesiriusminervamuviellthe-cat
Ode on Solitude, Alexander Pope.
Reposted bymaraskowafotofobnomnomnomnomNereushDaggeroftheMindsiriusminervaNarcisse-Noirmuviellfun-in-funeral

September 23 2012

The Hollow Men, T. S. Eliot, 1925
Reposted byno-longer-koreexistentialgotohellszszszimmuffenideprzytulankithosecookiesareminebrovinskyfinnymadialenemiscreant-at-lifebuffyrulezzooziablue-berrymagdalinihederecitiesofnightaudreyyficationdecanelle

September 21 2012

Bright Star (2009)

Poetic craft is a carcass, a sham. If poetry does not come as naturally to leaves to a tree, then it had better not come at all… A poem needs understanding through the senses. The point of diving in a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore, but to be in the lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not work the lake out. It is an experience beyond thought. Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept mystery.

Time is a good place to travel
Reposted byhahatmuviellmaraskowaszszszskrzacikprzytulankidolphuglyno-longer-korepieszczotyejzeenide
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