self-congratulatory nonsense as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness | you wonder where the real ones are | what giant cave hides them | as the deathly talentless bow to accolades | as the fools are fooled again | you wonder where the real ones are | if there are real ones. | this self-congratulatory nonsense has lasted decades and with some exceptions | centuries. | this is so dreary is so absolutely pitiless | it churns the gut to powder shackles hope | it makes little things like pulling up a shade or putting on your shoes or walking out on the street | more difficult near damnable | as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness | as the fools are fooled again | humanity you sick motherfucker.
So this is hell. I’d never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the “burning marl.” Old wives’ tales! There’s no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is other people.
—Garcin from “No Exit” by Jean-Paul Sartre (via wrmiii)
I thank you with all my heart (do not come) I shall write to you tomorrow. This evening my head aches too much. I have gone into certain rooms which through chance I had not revisited, and I have explored unknown areas of my grief, which spreads ever more widely as I go further into it.
—Marcel Proust, from a letter to La Comtesse de Noailles, undated 1905 (source)
“But this road doesn’t go anywhere,” I told him.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“What does?” I asked, after a little while.
“Just that we’re on it, dude,” he said.
—Less Than Zero, Bret Easton Ellis (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)
You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.
—Great Expectations, Charles Dickens (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)
But I don’t have to know an answer. I don’t feel frightened by not knowing things, by being lost in the mysterious universe without having any purpose — which is the way it really is, as far as I can tell, possibly. It doesn’t frighten me
—Richard Feynman (via ageofreason)
When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn’t make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. “It’s all right” we whisper, “I’m here, I love you.” and we lie: “I’ll never leave you.” For just a moment or two the darkness doesn’t seem so bad.
—Neil Gaiman’s Midnight Days, Neil Gaiman (via fuckyeahliteraryquotes)