I didn’t like having to explain to them, so I just shut up, smoked a cigarette, and looked at the sea.
written by Albert Camus, The Stranger (via whyallcaps)

(Source: , via whyallcaps)

For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavily as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.
written by Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being (via whyallcaps)

(via oueq)

The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s intelligence…It is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought.
written by Oscar Wilde, The Soul of Man Under Socialism (via whyallcaps)

(via oueq)

They say that time heals all wounds, but we never live long enough to test that theory…
written by José Saramago, The Cave (via whyallcaps)

(via oueq)

2,781 notes
coco-vaughn:

Scotch and Soda Spring-Summer 2014 ph: Annmarieke Van Drimelen
Seventeen seems like the perfect age. Not naive like sixteen. Not feeling the pressures of daunting adulthood like eighteen. Just plain and simple, seventeen.
written by seven months to seventeen | #5 (via avenue)

(via bellefleurcaroline)

There is nothing else than now. There is neither yesterday, certainly, nor is there any tomorrow. How old must you be before you know that? There is only now, and if now is only two days, then two days is your life and everything in it will be in proportion. This is how you live a life in two days. And if you stop complaining and asking for what you never will get, you will have a good life. A good life is not measured by any biblical span.
written by Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls (via whyallcaps)

(via whyallcaps)

He who jumps into the void owes no explanation to those who stand and watch.
written by Jean Luc Godard (via eyelovelisa)
Henri Cartier-Bresson, Sunday on the Backs of the River Marne, 1938
A cage went in search of a bird.
written by Franz Kafka, The Collected Aphorisms
For everything outside the phenomenal world language can only be used allusively, but never even approximately by way of comparison, since, corresponding as it does to the phenomenal world, it is concerned with property and its relations.
written by Franz Kafka, The Collected Aphorisms
Kafka is a ‘writer of absence’, describing a world that remains religious in its structure but in which the central place belonging to God is empty.
written by S. Zizek (via alterities)

(via whyallcaps)

177 notes
mimbeau:

Marcel Bovis   
Restaurant à la Mère Catherine -  Paris 1946
Absence is the highest form of presence.
written by James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (via rabbitinthemoon)
Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.
written by Henri J.M. Nouwen (via 13neighbors)