"She stands,
In the quiet darkness,
This troubled woman,
Bowed by weariness and pain,
Like an Autumn flower,
In the frozen rain.
Like a wind-blown autumn flower,
That never lifts its head, Again."

“Troubled Woman” by Langston Hughes (via daughterofzami)

Book Title Poetry by 

Nina Katchadourian

"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is a breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

Truman Capote, In Cold Blood (1965)

(via largerloves)

"He didn’t tell me to smile. The textbook publishers would make sure to cover my face. The black box: a fig leaf in reverse, concealing identity while leaving shame exposed"

Jeffrey Eugenides - Middlesex (2002)

"That’s what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories."

Haruki Murakami, from 1Q84 (Alfred A. Knopf, 2011)  (via apoetreflects)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

mythologyofblue:

Aaron Kratch. Books stacked to human height, volumes checked out of the New York Public Library with their cover pages stamped to alert the reader that the book’s author committed suicide. 

speechless.

thebonechurch:

Extremely Silly Writers

pretty much.

"

1
My heart’s aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it’s throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.

2
I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.

Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I’ll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.
I embrace a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.

3
That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest
oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

4
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

"

Frank O’Hara - Mayakovsky

"I never change, I simply become more myself."

Solstice - Joyce Carol Oates

"When the soul suffers too much, it develops a taste for misfortune."

Albert Camus, The First Man

from liquidnight

(via billyjane)

(via billyjane)