“A book read by a thousand different people is a thousand different books.”
Sculpting in Time by Andrei Tarkovsky (via augustuszeus)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“It was autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive.”
Tom Robbins, from Still Life with Woodpecker (Bantam Books, 1980)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“Then I felt that every inflection of my voice, every word in my mouth, was a lie, a play whose sole purpose was to cover emptiness and boredom. There was only one way I could avoid a state of despair and a breakdown. To be silent. And to reach behind the silence for clarity or at least try to collect the resources that might still be available to me.”
Persona (1966) dir. by Ingmar Bergman (via c-ovet)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“Lie down and look up at the ceiling and breathe with those curiously fragile lungs of yours and remind yourself: Don’t worry. Don’t worry. All is as it was meant to be. It was meant to be lonely and terrifying and unfair and heaving. Don’t worry.”
The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, Condos (via splitterherzen)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

“[…] First, soul, and second, soul, and evermore, soul.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson, in an 1838 address (via victoriajoan)

(via requiemforthepast)

kingazhar:

Pablo Picasso by Jean-Michel Basquiat

(via andyswarhol)

floriental:

Soon he began to wear a rose in his lapel, because it was her favorite flower. Her favorite things became his favorite things.

(via emauxetcamees)

“You think you know. And then, no. You don’t.”
Marguerite Duras, from Hiroshima, Mon Amour (via violentwavesofemotion)