Jeder ist allein. : archive message rss about second self

I've got my book, I've got my dream, I've got myself and I'll be fine.
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. by Anais Nin (via finedineonmyvegangenitalia)

(Quelle: balidomalido, via tariqk)

I look at the swaling sunset
And wish I could go also
Through the red doors beyond the black-purple bar.

I wish that I could go
Through the red doors where I could put off
My shame like shoes in the porch,
My pain like garments,
And leave my flesh discarded lying
Like luggage of some departed traveller
Gone one knows not where.

Then I would turn round,
And seeing my cast-off body lying like lumber,
I would laugh with joy. by D.H. LawrenceIn trouble and shame (1916)

(Quelle: sol-psych)

bbbadsunset:

Oh, I’ve been having a dream

Mixed with sleep paralysis I can’t scream, no

But I can’t watch, can’t watch them leaving

I wake up and wind up leaving

hello hello, Ante here —

I have several hundred things backed up to queue or something based on the times in which I pop on to scroll through a few pages/check friends’ blogs, but my presence around here has been pretty nonexistent, so —

add me on twitter (most active) or anywhere else if you’d like, links over at mephistopheles over here because my taste in usernames is laughable

(send a message for FB/line/aim that I don’t use/whatever)

mkvt:

One day we’ll look at the past with love, love.

meine Ruh’ ist hin / mein Herz ist schwer / ich finde sie nimmer / und nimmermehr
meine Ruh’ ist hin / mein Herz ist schwer / ich finde sie nimmer / und nimmermehr

(Quelle: moritat)

aryasnarktheme8:

Giving up is not an option by Ole Ukena

(Quelle: , via qinaide)

diiscotechjuliet:

Riptide | Vance Joy

and i love you when you’re singing this song but

i got a lump in my throat cause

you’re gonna sing the words wrong

(via s-uga)

When my husband [Carl Sagan] died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me — it still sometimes happens — and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again.

Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous — not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful.

The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.

by

Ann Druyan  (via girlwithdeathmask)

This is beautiful and made my night

(via disordered)

(Quelle: whats-out-there, via birnechen)

allthingseurope:

Bamberg, Germany (by memories-in-motion)

allthingseurope:

Bamberg, Germany (by memories-in-motion)

(via durendals)

theme