"You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken."
by Anaïs Nin (x)
c
i need someone to tell me how bodies forget other bodies. i have to learn. have to learn this soundly.
what to know
“i can’t say everything whole”
things that slip too heavy into someone when it’s not meant: “…”
“The question of the play,” the director said about The Cataract, “is, ‘What happens when the person you love teaches you so much about yourself that you have to leave them?’”
(Source: floatwithme)
adamant about it
when being alone starts to feel like a type of grace
"i know we’re not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. but our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don’t know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don’t care that we don’t."
by Dylan Thomas (via rarararambles)
