darkestt-thoughts - Tumblr blog

[darkestt-thoughts]

Is all these fucking voices in my head

Tell me I'm not good enough for them

They just leave me paranoid

Paranoid, paranoid again

~ Palaye royale, Paranoid ~

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to live is the rarest thing of all, most people just exist

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My fatal flaw is desire to experience something amazing knowing how absurd and impossible it is

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“Every word has consequences, every silence too.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre

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― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

[text ID: I am going to outlive myself. Eat, sleep, sleep, eat. Exist slowly, softly, like these trees, like a puddle of water, like the red bench in the streetcar.]

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“You cannot make everyone think and feel as deeply as you do. This is your tragedy … because you understand them, and they do not understand you.”

— Daniel Saint

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Love chilling with coffee, listening cigarettes after sex and reading Nabokov's novellas.

That's what people call romanticizing their life...

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“Oh my, but art is long

and our life is fleeting.”

~Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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La tombe dit à la rose :

– Des pleurs dont l’aube t’arrose

Que fais-tu, fleur des amours ?

La rose dit à la tombe :

– Que fais-tu de ce qui tombe

Dans ton gouffre ouvert toujours ?

La rose dit : – Tombeau sombre,

De ces pleurs je fais dans l’ombre

Un parfum d’ambre et de miel.

La tombe dit : – Fleur plaintive,

De chaque âme qui m’arrive

Je fais un ange du ciel !

"La tombe dit à la rose" ~ Victor Hugo

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Eng translation:

The Grave said to the Rose,

“What of the dews of dawn,

Love’s flower, what end is theirs?”

“And what of spirits flown,

The souls whereon doth close

The tomb’s mouth unawares?”

The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said, “In the shade

From the dawn’s tears is made

A perfume faint and strange,

Amber and honey sweet.”

“And all the spirits fleet

Do suffer a sky-change,

More strangely than the dew,

To God’s own angels new,”

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I love it when literature touches me, when it reaches my bones. It doesn't matter if it's in a pleasurable way or a horrifying way, either way it's satisfying.

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"I shall write it in my diary to-night."

"What?"

"That a burnt child loves the fire."

~The picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

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Imagine living in "The secret history"...

Why do we want it so much?

It's beautiful but terribly sad at the same time. Why the desire to experience this tragedy is stronger than common sense screaming that you would be hurt?

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Still missing "The secret history".

This book is so devastating. It robs you of your whole life and makes you can't stop thinking about it.