“When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. he sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamppost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it. When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about *design* and *balance* and getting *interesting planes* into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest *academical* tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on. But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it. And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.”
— Brenda Ueland, from “If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit”
“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”
— C.S. Lewis
miss when u were a kid and u could just walk up to someone and be like. let's be friends and they would be like ok
"Please believe there is still time for you to be all that you want to be. There is time."
“Small delights – a clear winter sunset through the natural iron grillwork of black trees, a street lamp shining through ice-encased branches, blue sky glittering, and sun on ice-crusted snow. Loveliness, loveliness.”
— Sylvia Plath, from a journal entry featured in “The Unabridged Journals,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
the world is a cruel harsh evil place *had to get out of bed*
When will I experience love such as this...😔
“Even if I now saw you only once, I would long for you through worlds,”
— Izumi Shikibu, from “Even if I now saw you”; The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems (tr. by Jane Hirshfield & Mariko Aratani)
— Henry Miller, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953
listen all i'm saying is if the villain au reader studied execution methods through history while they were still in their world the acolytes are fuuuuuuuuucked
very lovely thought <3333
there are so many brutal torture methods, much too graphic for me to want to write them out...
but one that's non-brutal that I never forgot was where they constantly drip a single drop of water on someone's forehead (like where the third eye is?)
just thinking about it makes me feel crazy, it'd drive someone (reader's acolytes) insane <3