clitoridien:

“Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by.”

— To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (1927)

mydisdain:

“[E]very aspect of time has its depth in eternity, is nourished by and permeated with eternity.”

— Sergius Bulgakov, The Lamb of God
(via sanctorum-communio)

clitoridien:

“I’m tired, acutely now! Let us cry together, quietly. For having suffered and continuing on so sweetly. Tired pain in a simplified tear. But this was a yearning for poetry, that I confess, God. Let us sleep hand in hand. The world rolls and somewhere out there are things I don’t know. Let us sleep on God and mystery, a quiet, fragile ship floating on the sea, behold sleep.”

— Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart (1943)

clitoridien:

“for it was not knowledge but unity she desired, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge”

— To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (1927)

clitoridien:

“Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of beauty, so that all one’s perceptions, half-way to the truth, were tangled in a golden mesh?”

— To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (1927)

clitoridien:

“It was love that never attempted to clutch its object; but was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain.”

— To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (1927)

clitoridien:

“something clear as the space which the clouds at last uncover — the little space of sky which sleeps beside the moon.”

— To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf (1927)

finita–la–commedia:

“Grace fills empty spaces but it can only enter where there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself which makes this void”

— Simone Weil (1909-1943), from “Void and Compensation”
in “Gravity and Grace”, translated by Emma Crawford and Mario von der Ruhr

endless-unfolding:

“Don’t be afraid to suffer; return that heaviness to the earth’s own weight; heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.”

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Sonnet IV,” trans. Stephen Mitchell, in Duino Elegies & The Sonnets To Orpheus

(via altlast)

violentwavesofemotion:

“I keep thinking, thinking, and my thoughts are all sick, and my head is sick.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Stories; “The Meek One,” written c. 1876

(via clitoridien)

gestalt-des-endes:

“Has your lonely night spoken to mine?”

— Rainer Maria Rilke, tr. by Robert Bly, from “The Neighbor,”
(via violentwavesofemotion)