Dalliant Thoughts

The old library, Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland.

the vintage academic's desk; old books and papers strewn evereywhere, a teacup growing cold, a candelabra set precariously on top of random objects for light.

ig: notes.and.teacupstains

“ Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be? ”

— Charles Bukowski (The Post Office)

“How could you become new, if you had not first become ashes?” - Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

“All I wanted was to live a life where I could be me, and be okay with that. I had no need for material possessions, money or even close friends with me on my journey. I never understood people very well anyway, and they never seemed to understand me very well either. All I wanted was my art and the chance to be the creator of my own world, my own reality. I wanted the open road and new beginnings every day.”    ―Charlotte Eriksson,Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps    

“The mountains of truth you will never climb in vain.” - Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human

— Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Woods

Uzaklar... Bu kelimede ıssız, boynu bükük, hatta insana yaraşan bir bitmezlik gücü var...

“You’re always in a rush, or else you’re too exhausted to have a proper conversation. Soon enough, the long hours, the traveling, the broken sleep have all crept into your being and become part of you, so everyone can see it, in your posture, your gaze, the way you move and talk.” - Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

“She may know a little, may think of herself, face and body, as ‘pretty’… but he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.” - Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow

“This is not to say that joy is a compensation for loss, but that each of them, joy and loss, exists in its own right and must be recognized for what it is. Sorrow is very real, and loss feels very final to us. Life on earth is difficult and grave, and marvelous. Our experience is fragmentary. Its parts don’t add up. They don’t even belong in the same calculation. Sometimes it is hard to believe they are all parts of one thing.” - Marilynne Robinson, Lila

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— ANNA KAMIEŃSKA, trans. Clare Cavanagh & Stanisław Barańczak.

— Dulce María Loynaz, from Ballad of Late Love (tr. by Paul Weinfield)