Beauty And The Muse
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  1.  
    I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.
    – Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke (via liquidnight)

    Source: liquidnight

  2.  
    Oh 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.
    – Dylan Thomas, November or December 1936
    From The Love Letters of Dylan Thomas (via liquidnight)

    Source: liquidnight

  3.  
    She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxicabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.
    – Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway (via liquidnight)

    Source: liquidnight

  4.  
    I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.
    – W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence (via liquidnight)

    (via mudwerks)

    Source: liquidnight

  5.  
    There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops upon a windowpane, they ran together and trickled away.
    – Dorothy Parker, “Big Blonde” (via liquidnight)

    (via kenikila-deactivated20120316)

    Source: liquidnight