It is not just Mowgli who was raised by a couple of wolves; any child is raised by a couple of grown-ups.

From “An Unread Book,” Randall Jarrell’s 1965 introduction to Christina Stead’s The Man who Loved Children, a family novel unlike any other.

theparisreview:

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” ―Sylvia Plath

A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising and then after all little by little it grows nothing but vegetables, nothing, nothing but vegetables.

Gertrude Stein, from Wars I Have Seen, 1945.

Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience.

From Charles Yu’s How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe.

Lumière Brothers - The Serpentine Dance (c.1899)

Filmed in black and white, and then hand coloured (probably with little paint brushes) each frame of the film. You can see the full movie here.

(via ubermichael)

I was a terrible believer in things, but I was also a terrible nonbeliever in things. I was as searching as I was skeptical. I didn’t know where to put my faith, or if there was such a place, or even precisely what the word faith meant, in all of its complexity. Everything seemed to be possibly potent and possibly fake.

Cheryl Strayed, in her memoir Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail.

Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things. A table, a chair, a book with a paper-knife stuck between the pages. And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)

(via hoodoothatvoodoo)

Blitz Wedding, 1941 | Retronaut

readandbreathe:

“I must not forget, I thought, that I have been happy, that I am being happier than one can be. But I forgot, I’ve always forgotten.” —from NEAR TO THE WILD HEART by Clarice Lispector

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your undumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it should lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is really just a squeal of pain.

Love letter by Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf, January 21st, 1927.

kateoplis:

Into the dark: A history of night photographyAlvin Langdon Coburn, Broadway, 1910

(via meetmeinthewillowtree)

myedol:

Romeo & Juliet by Sam Winston

Sam created these pieces by cutting out every single word from Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet and separating them in to three emotional states, Passion, Rage, and Solace. Once all three categories were complete Sam then used every letter from each word to design three unique prints to represent each emotion.

(via fuckyeahbookarts)

'I'm always happy,' Sasha said. 'Sometimes I just forget.'

Jennifer Egan, A Visit from the Goon Squad.

Johan Hagemeyer—Elsa Naess, 1931

WHERE ARE MY DRAGONS?!

last.fm