Σ’ όλη μας τη ζωή, προσπαθούμε να ξετρυπώσουμε την ευτυχία μέσα σε άχρηστα , πεταμένα κι ανώφελα πράγματα. Σ’ όλη μας τη ζωή ψάχνουμε για πεταμένες χάντρες, πολύχρωμα μπουκάλια κι αδεία σκουριασμένα κουτάκια, σε παλιές , ξεχασμένες αποθήκες που κανείς δεν έβαλε σε τάξη.
―
(via whiskey-and-ciggarettes)

(via mydearestholmes)

Lorsque Laura pleurait, il y avait crime contre l’humanité. Il y avait exode des populations civiles mitraillées sur les routes. Il y avait nazisme, et Hitler c’était moi. Je quittai l’autoroute par la première sortie et m’arrêtai parmi des cageots d’endives à Rungis. Je voulus la prendre dans mes bras, avec cette idée si masculine que tout serait instantanément pardonné. (…) On dit tant de bêtises sur la naissance! Il ne suffit pas de venir au monde pour être né. “Vivre”, ce n’est ni respirer, ni souffrir, ni même être heureux, vivre est un secret que l’on ne peut découvrir qu’à deux. Le bonheur est un travail d’équipe. Je laisse passer les secondes et les minutes et cette lente caravane est chargée de sel de bonheur, car elle va vers toi.
―
Romain Gary, Au-delà de cette limite votre ticket n’est plus valable (via lamelancolique)

(Source: frogsfallingfromthesky, via lamelancolique)

I will love you forever; whatever happens. Until I die and after I die, and when I find my way out of the land of the dead, I’ll drift about forever, all my atoms, until I find you again.
―
Phillip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass (via lamelancolique)

(Source: aristochronism, via lamelancolique)

Ἔχω κάτι σπασμένα φτερά.
Δὲν ξέρω κἂν γιατί μᾶς ἦρθε
τὸ καλοκαῖρι αὐτό.
Γιὰ ποιὰν ἀνέλπιστη χαρά,
γιὰ ποιὲς ἀγάπες
γιὰ ποιὸ ταξίδι ὀνειρευτό.
―

- Κώστας Καρυωτάκης (via lookatthepaininsideme)

φτυχώς που’ναι κι η θάλασσα να λες

(via mydearestholmes)

(Source: intifada-liberacion, via mydearestholmes)

Avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavour, laziness will not do.
―
Dead Poets Society. (via dreamsofeuphoria)

(via mydearestholmes)

Poetry is thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
―
Thomas Grey (via audreylostinparis)

(Source: proustitute, via audreylostinparis)

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Radiant palace — reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion —
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This — all this — was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn! — for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh — but smile no more.

―
Edgar Allan Poe - The Haunted Palace (via f—-yeahpoetry)

(Source: , via andletsgetlost)