You Make Me Happy When Skies Are Gray ~ handz ~ Etsy
(Source: theshallowend)
I like a lot of things that aren’t good for me.
—
A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to take it off of you.
— Françoise Sagan
There’s nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
— Carson McCullers
I drank because I wanted to drown my sorrows, but now the damned things have learned to swim.
— Frida Kahlo

They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality. ~ Frida Kahlo

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
But the problem with readers, the idea we’re given of reading is that the model of a reader is the person watching a film, or watching television. So the greatest principle is, “I should sit here and I should be entertained.” And the more classical model, which has been completely taken away, is the idea of a reader as an amateur musician.
An amateur musician who sits at the piano, has a piece of music, which is the work, made by somebody they don’t know, who they probably couldn’t comprehend entirely, and they have to use their skills to play this piece of music. The greater the skill, the greater the gift that you give the artist and that the artist gives you.
That’s the incredibly unfashionable idea of reading. And yet when you practice reading, and you work at a text, it can only give you what you put into it. It’s an old moral, but it’s completely true.
~ Zadie Smith
Even with insects —
Some can sing,
Some can’t.
— Kobayashi Issa
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.
— Anaïs Nin
There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don’t work.
— Anaïs Nin, Henry and June
She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, “I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.
— Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman
Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting.
— Haruki Murakami