I like cats, urban exploring, film noir and eldritch abominations. Please go away.

Paris
1959
Henri Cartier-Bresson

Paris

1959

Henri Cartier-Bresson

Years and years ago, there was a production of The Tempest, out of doors, at an Oxford college on a lawn, which was the stage, and the lawn went back towards the lake in the grounds of the college, and the play began in natural light. But as it developed, and as it became time for Ariel to say his farewell to the world of The Tempest, the evening had started to close in and there was some artificial lighting coming on. And as Ariel uttered his last speech, he turned and he ran across the grass, and he got to the edge of the lake and he just kept running across the top of the water — the producer having thoughtfully provided a kind of walkway an inch beneath the water. And you could see and you could hear the plish, plash as he ran away from you across the top of the lake, until the gloom enveloped him and he disappeared from your view.

And as he did so, from the further shore, a firework rocket was ignited, and it went whoosh into the air, and high up there it burst into lots of sparks, and all the sparks went out, and he had gone.

When you look up the stage directions, it says, ‘Exit Ariel.’

Tom Stoppard, University of Pennsylvania, 1996 (via flameintobeing)

"Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that people usually call silence?"

"Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that people usually call silence?"

A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself.
Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf (via larmoyante)
oxigenio-dapalavra:

 But we are different, you dream of everlasting love. Not me. Because what really matters is to live. And if we do, there will be nothing to forgive. But I’ll forgive you anyway. 
 - Ginger and Rosa.

oxigenio-dapalavra:

 But we are different, you dream of everlasting love. Not me. Because what really matters is to live. And if we do, there will be nothing to forgive. But I’ll forgive you anyway.

 - Ginger and Rosa.

My brain and this world don’t fit each other.

G.K. Chesterton, The Innocence of Father Brown

My thought is me: that is why I can’t stop. I exist by what I think and I can’t prevent myself from thinking. At this very moment – this is terrible – if I exist, it is because I hate existing. It is I, it is I who pull myself from the nothingness to which I aspire: hatred and disgust for existence are just so many ways of making me exist, of thrusting me into existence.
Jean-Paul Sartre
Lonesome Hunter
Timber Timbre
She hated the namelessness of women in stories, as if they lived and died so that men could have metaphysical insights.
Chad Harbach, The Art of Fielding  (via glittergheist)
bartleby-company:

Paul Almasy: Au Quartier Latin, 1956

bartleby-company:

Paul Almasy: Au Quartier Latin, 1956

Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.
Sylvia Plath (via fall0pianprincess)
sugarmeows:

The Annunciation (detail) from the main panel of the altarpiece of the life of Mary in San Domenico, Cortona (1433–34) – Fra Angelico (1395–1455)

sugarmeows:

The Annunciation (detail) from the main panel of the altarpiece of the life of Mary in San Domenico, Cortona (1433–34) – Fra Angelico (1395–1455)

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