the girl with no country
the only thing that matters is the understanding that everyone matters.
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but i, being poor, have only my dreams; i have spread my dreams under your feet; tread softly because you tread on my dreams. - w. b. yeats
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if i write for you, do you think you could read it? savor the words carefully chosen just for your eyes, your ears. for i am personal and i am illegible, in all manners and parts i am how you choose to see me.
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but i, being poor, have only my dreams; i have spread my dreams under your feet; tread softly because you tread on my dreams. - w. b. yeats
*
if i write for you, do you think you could read it? savor the words carefully chosen just for your eyes, your ears. for i am personal and i am illegible, in all manners and parts i am how you choose to see me.
These might be dandy
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“There is silent and long-suffering sorrow to be met with among the peasantry. It withdraws into itself and is still. But there is a grief that breaks...”
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The Relativity of Time
It seems at times
as if the galaxies have churned ten times over
as if months have given way to years, and years to...
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Gold
I buried our love
in the backyard
with a hatchet—
it’s still there;
it’s grown into
a leafy tree
and each Spring,
buds blossom into
fruit and...
I follow these kids
Posts tagged "crime and punishment"
We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception, something vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, what if it’s one little room, like a bath house in the country, black and grimy and spiders in every corner, and that’s all eternity is? I sometimes fancy it like that
Svidrigailov in Crime and Punishment (via alexandermarr)
It’s a curious reflection: what are people most afraid of? Of doing something new, saying a new word of their own that hasn’t been said before—that’s what scares them most.
Purchased a booksafe of Crime and Punishment, a black custom-made scarf, and a set of twelve vintage cocktail rings. Things that always improve my day.
Why am I going there now? Am I capable of that? Is that serious? It is not serious at all. It’s simply a fantasy to amuse myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything.
Dostoevsky. Crime and Punishment.
What are you doing that for, to me of all people?!” she muttered, and turned pale. Her heart pulsed with great pain.
He rose at once. “It wasn’t you I bowed down to. I bowed down to all of suffering humanity,” he said wildly, and walked off to the window. “Listen”-after a minute he turned to face her-“I told a blackguard just now he wasn’t worth your little finger…I told him I did my sister an honor today by seating her beside you.”
“What did you say that for! Was she there?” Sonia exclaimed in alarm. “An honor! Sitting beside me! But I…I’m dishonorable, a terrible sinner. What in the world were you saying!”
“I said what I said not because of your dishonor or your sin, but because of your great suffering. It’s true, though, that you’re a terrible sinner,” he added, practically enraptured. “Mostly because you’ve mortified yourself and sold yourself in vain. There’s a horror for you, a real horror. You live in this muck that you hate, and all the time you know yourself-all you have to do is open your eyes-you won’t help anybody this way, you won’t save anybody from anything! Tell me then, finally”-he was almost in a frenzy-“how can you abide such shame and degradation inside you up against their opposite - such holy feelings?
He rose at once. “It wasn’t you I bowed down to. I bowed down to all of suffering humanity,” he said wildly, and walked off to the window. “Listen”-after a minute he turned to face her-“I told a blackguard just now he wasn’t worth your little finger…I told him I did my sister an honor today by seating her beside you.”
“What did you say that for! Was she there?” Sonia exclaimed in alarm. “An honor! Sitting beside me! But I…I’m dishonorable, a terrible sinner. What in the world were you saying!”
“I said what I said not because of your dishonor or your sin, but because of your great suffering. It’s true, though, that you’re a terrible sinner,” he added, practically enraptured. “Mostly because you’ve mortified yourself and sold yourself in vain. There’s a horror for you, a real horror. You live in this muck that you hate, and all the time you know yourself-all you have to do is open your eyes-you won’t help anybody this way, you won’t save anybody from anything! Tell me then, finally”-he was almost in a frenzy-“how can you abide such shame and degradation inside you up against their opposite - such holy feelings?
Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment”
