the divine for me is whatever is real.

—Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to GH

to manifest the inexpressive is to create.

—Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to GH

Suffering consists of being unable to reveal oneself and, when one happens to succeed in doing so, in having nothing more to say.

—André Gide + (via mythologyofblue)

the great have the vital quality of flesh, and not only tolerate the atonal, they aspire to it.

—Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to GH

Eventually it comes to you: The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.

—Lorraine Hansberry, To Be Young, Gifted, and Black (via heteroglossia)

(Source: postoutpost, via heteroglossia)

My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn’t that enough for a whole lifetime?

—Fyodor Dostoevsky (via likeafieldmouse)

(via mythologyofblue)

By all evidence we are in the world to do nothing.

—Emil Cioran, from A Short History Of Decay (via violentwavesofemotion)

Have you ever noticed?—people, no matter how beautiful or desirable, invariably will, if observed closely while going about their daily business of keeping alive, begin to seem like monsters.

—Donald Antrim, The Verificationist (via mythologyofblue)

to be human ought not be an ideal for man who is inevitably human, being human must be the way that I, living thing, obeying freely the path of whatever is alive, am human. and I don’t even need to care for my soul, it will inevitably care for me, and I don’t have to make a soul for myself: all I have to do is choose to live.

—Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to GH

mashatupitsyn:

Men can’t just write serious songs anymore (Kanye West’s “New Slaves,” which I find arresting, but…) or make serious films or write serious books. They also need to date/marry/love serious women who are doing serious things other than dating so-called serious men. Women who actually reflect…

through the words a little daylight still passed.

—Maurice Blanchot, Awaiting Oblivion

there was no great truth about the human condition that I would discover through celibacy.

—Emily Witt, in n+1

life, my love, is a great seduction in which all that exists seduces. that room that was deserted and for that reason primally alive. I had reached the nothing, and the nothing was living and moist.

—Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to GH

I am the weakest, the most innocent, the most trustful. You are all protected. I am naked.

—Virginia Woolf, from The Waves (via violentwavesofemotion)