"He tried to recall what he had read about the disease. Figures floated across his memory, and he recalled that some thirty or so great plagues known to history had accounted for nearly a hundred million deaths. But what are a hundred million deaths? When one has served in a war, one hardly knows what a dead man is, after a while. And since a dead man has no substance unless one actually sees him dead, a hundred million corpses broadcast through history are no more than a puff of smoke in the imagination."
— The Plague - Albert Camus (via falltothepage)
"I love the dark hours of my being
in which my senses drop into the deep.
I have found in them, as in old letters,
my private life, that is already lived through,
and become wide and powerful now, like legends.
Then I know that there is room in me
for a second huge and timeless life."
— Rainer Maria Rilke, from A Book for the Hours in Prayer, trans. Robert Bly (via proustitute)
"I’ve got to
kill myself or
— Charles Bukowski, from Cows In Art Class (via perfect)
(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via perfect)
"Art is jealous and demands all our time and all our strength, and then when we dedicate these to it, it leaves rather a bitter taste to be taken for some kind of impractical person and I don’t know what else. Well, we just have to try and battle on."
— Vincent van Gogh (via vincentvangogh-art)