quoetree - Tumblr blog

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All images: VIVINOS, Alien Stage // Rixa White // Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince // S.K. Osborn, "A Hunger Like No Other" // Sing Shong, Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint // Sylvia Plath, "Dialogue Between Ghost and Priest" // Park Byungdae, STUDIO LICO, Yongsu Choi, & Manju—Cure // Renée Vivien // Tina Tran, "Until I started choking on our memories" // Mary Ruefle, "The Cart" // Jenny Slate, Little Weirds // Pablo Neruda, 20 Love Sonnets and a Song of Despair // Hozier—Francesca // Richard Siken, "Saying Your Names"

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I found this post in August with less than two weeks left before an exam that will determine the trajectory of my life.

I hope it is a good sign. 

"It is August. My life is going to change. I feel it."

– Raymond Carver, "Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?"

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I beg your pardon. I love you very much. I’m nuts about you. I know it. I could love you all my life.

J. D. Salinger, "The Heart of a Broken Story" (1941)

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Orbiting Jupiter- Gary D. Schmidt

A Little Life- Hanya Yanagihara

The Book Thief- Markus Zusak

"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us."

The Collected Letters, Franz Kafka

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“You're asking me what I want for breakfast and I'm telling you about how when the worst thing happened, I didn't even cry. You're handing me a receipt from the laundromat down the street and I'm passing you a bundle of letters that I wrote to God when I was fourteen and scared. You're passing me the milk after you drip it into your coffee and I'm half laughing about the psychiatrist's office and how there's actually a couch and it's made of blue tweed. You're trying to do the normal things and I am throwing up dull pieces of truth onto our kitchen table. I can't lie anymore. These are the things I've done and they're mostly sad. These are the places I've been and they're mostly awful. This life has woven itself into the notches of my spine and I hear it creak every time I stand.”

— Fortesa Latifi; Dull Pieces Of Truth

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“I exist. In thousands of agonies - I exist. I’m tormented on the rack - but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar - I exist! I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.”

- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

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Your eyes<3

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There are so many stories left barren in the crevices of my mind due to the complexities of my life. The vastness of the world amazes and scares me at the same time. The fact that I am capable of engraving so much of it into the folds of my brain is wonderful but the tragedy is that all of it lost once I am gone. 

All the places I have seen, the memories I have had, the moments I have lived are photographed into myself in a way that cannot be lived by another. They are the little treasures I have kept as souvenirs.

Once death embraces me, all my treasures are blown into the air the way a dandelion is scattered into the wind. It is comforting to know that all my worries are but a strong wind away but worrying to know that all my successes are too. 

The way sunflowers face the sun and turn their back to the overwhelming sky of clouds, perhaps, I am but a sunflower trying to ignore the fantastically spacious universe and focus on a minute part of it. Perhaps, it gives me joy in doing so. In imagining that I am slightly bigger than I really am.

I crave for the knowledge that may come centuries after I am buried six feet deep. I weep in realization that I won’t ever get a taste of it but soothe my heart with a cool pack of “What if things are worse then, than they are now?”

I wish to write all of these sorrows and all of these fears but do not find the strength in my arm. My throat forms a lump whenever I try to speak and my tongue gives away. My vocal cords constrict as if I’m under a spell that forbids me of speaking my insides out loud.

This is the reason that the words left on the inner side of my skin burn like scorching hot fire that threatens to incinerate me. I try time and time again to spit them out but it is as if they have swore an oath of burrowing their phalanges deep in my raw skin and refusing to let go, much like a parasite that derives what it can from you and leaves you labouring for breath.

Sometimes, my words eat me alive.

- quoetree

Ophelia- Friedrich Heyser

White peonies and a jar- Kami Mendlik

Sunflowers- Jacki Newell

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“As if you were an endless path, and I was created for this journey.”

- Farouk Gouida

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"He is half my soul, as the poets say."

- Song of Achilles

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“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.” -  Farouq Jwaideh

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- T. S. Eliot

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I have buried you in every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands.

Bon Iver, A song for a lover of long time ago (via perfectquote)

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Inej thought of Kaz’s pale trickster hands, the shiny rope of scar tissue that ran atop his right knuckle. Van Eck could break every finger and both of Kaz’s legs and he’d never say a word, but if his men stripped away Kaz’s gloves? Inej still didn’t understand why he needed them or why he’d fainted in the prison wagon on the way into the Ice Court, but she knew Kaz couldn’t bear the touch of skin on skin. How much of this weakness could he hide? How quickly would Van Eck locate his vulnerability, exploit it? How long until Kaz came undone? She couldn’t bear it. She was glad she didn’t know where Kuwei was. She would break before Kaz did.

Crooked Kingdom (via beatrix2712)

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on death with 1. lilies abounded, @petfurniture, twitter; 2. frances molina, “o’death”