sy.think/tell

Tuesday, 31 December 2013

Fate always loses hold like electric sparks in my heart, fate always loses hold now be a good girl and do what you're told

I felt like I had proof that not all days are the same length, not all time has the same weight. Proof that there are worlds and worlds and worlds on top of worlds, if you want them to be there. Tell the Wolves I'm Home

Monday, 30 December 2013

If you ever ask me how many times you’ve crossed my mind I would say once because you came, and never left

Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.
Franz Kafka

Sunday, 22 December 2013

Searching for me you look everywhere except beside you, searching for you you look everywhere but not inside you

Nobody needs to go anywhere else. We are all, if we only knew it, already there. If I only knew who in fact I am, I should cease to behave as what I think I am; and if I stopped behaving as what I think I am, I should know who I am. What in fact I am, if only the Manichee I think I am would allow me to know it, is the reconciliation of yes and no lived out in total acceptance and the blessed experience of Not-Two. In religion all words are dirty words. Anybody who gets eloquent about Buddha, or God, or Christ, ought to have his mouth washed out with carbolic soap. Aldous Huxley, Island

Could it tremble stars from moonlit skies could it drag a tear from your cold eyes, I live on the right side I sleep in the left that’s why everything’s got to be love or death

But, he thought, I keep them with precision. Only I have no luck anymore. But who knows? Maybe today. Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready. Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

Friday, 20 December 2013

But you say “oh, when love is gone where does it go?” and you say “oh, when love is gone where does it go?” and where do we go?

because this is what you do. get up. go to the couch because the bed is too empty. watch people scream about love. count the ways it could be worse. it could be last week when the missing got so big you wrote him a letter and sent it. still carried plans around with you like talismans. you could have kissed him last night. could have gone home with him, given in, cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm around you. recite the strongest poem you know. a spell against the lonely that gets you in crowds and on three hours’ sleep. wish you were a bird. remember you are not you, now. you are you a year from now. how does that woman walk? she doesn’t even remember today. what song is she humming? now. right now. that’s it.
Marty McConnell "Survival Poem #17"

Tuesday, 17 December 2013

We were so under the brine we were so vacant and kind, we were so under the brine we were so out of our minds

and you invented me
and I invented you
and that's why we don't
get along
on this bed
any longer.
you were the world's
greatest invention
until you
flushed me
away.
Love is a dog from hell

You put your heart in my hands and I suppressed it as hard as I can as we danced to the number one party anthem

I moved my arms through the water, feeling them float on the surface, watching the waves and wake that followed my gesture. Here was magic, I thought. Here was something holy.
Anita Diamant, The Red Tent

I won't be vacant anymore, I won't be waitin' anymore, I am in trouble can't get these thoughts out of me I know this changes everything

Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid-afternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling

Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens. Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

Monday, 9 December 2013

I always marvel at the humans’ ability to keep going, they always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be kind anyway. If you are successful, you will win some false friends and true enemies; succeed anyway. If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy anyway. The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; do good anyway. Kent M. Keith

Sunday, 8 December 2013

I break with the day and I've been with the night it's a comeback story of a lifetime, I walk a mile in your shoes and now I'm a mile away and I've got your shoes

If it is right, it happens — the main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away. John Steinbeck, on falling in love, a response to his eldest son’s 1958 letter.

He sat alone for a while but then you pitched him your mind and you moved like solitude when you took him by your hands

You might be sitting with him at the kitchen table drinking coffee from mismatched mugs and saying nothing because sometimes saying nothing is the best thing to say. He’s miles away, and you’re thinking you should take a shower or fix your hair or at least brush your teeth because you feel dirty and self-conscious. You wish the sun weren’t so bright on your face and you wish there was something other than corn flakes for breakfast so your stomach won’t start making hideous noises. You’re about to open your mouth and say something to break the silence, but he speaks first. He tilts his head slightly and says: “You make me really happy.” And you will agree he does, too.
Carrie Laski, Things To Say Besides I Love You

Tuesday, 3 December 2013

And I hope you find your dream and darling never settle, settle, I'm living like a silent movie shut your mouth and see straight through me


Absence, the highest form of presence

You're on your own in a world you've grown few more years to go don't let the hurdle fall, so be the girl you loved, show me why you're strong

People are always shouting they want to create a better future. It's not true. The future is an apathetic void of no interest to anyone. The past is full of life, eager to irritate us, provoke and insult us, tempt us to destroy or repaint it. The only reason people want to be masters of the future is to change the past.
Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

Stay with me among the strangers change your mind and nothing changes, don't let show any emotion when you fly into the ocean

If we could look into each other’s hearts and understand the unique challenges each of us faces, I think we would treat each other much more gently, with more love, patience, tolerance, and care.
Marvin J. Ashton

There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man

I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started. Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets

I never know a moonrise since I am confined in a room
I never know a sunrise since I am down in a cellar
I never know a clear sky since I walk with a hanging head
I never have news of anyone since I receive no letters
I confuse flowers with girls since I am blind
And yet I am still alive and
I know the cold wind and the smell of the earth.
Yasao Akeda, “Grub”