aesthetically pleasing movies » jane eyre (2011)
↳ "I can see in you the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage, a vivid, restless, captive. Were it but free, it would soar, cloud high."
The photography of Stanley Kubrick c. 1940s-1950s (via)
Bhikkhus, all is burning. And what is the all that is burning?
The eye is burning, forms are burning, eye-consciousness is burning, eye-contact is burning, also whatever is felt as pleasant or painful or neither-painful-nor-pleasant that arises with eye-contact for its indispensable condition, that too is burning. Burning with what? Burning with the fire of lust, with the fire of hate, with the fire of delusion. I say it is burning with birth, aging and death, with sorrows, with lamentations, with pains, with griefs, with despairs.
The ear is burning, sounds are burning…
The nose is burning, odors are burning…
The tongue is burning, flavors are burning…
The body is burning, tangibles are burning…"
The Buddha — “The Fire Sermon.”
But you make it sound like a bad thing.
it occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are. There were tricks we did with eggs, as children, to show how they were, in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls; while the beat of the wings of a butterfly in the right place, we are told, can create a hurricane across an ocean. Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill.
Stories, like people and butterflies and songbirds’ eggs and human hearts and dreams, are also fragile things, made up of nothing stronger or more lasting than twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks. Or they are words on the air, composed of sounds and ideas—abstract, invisible, gone once they’ve been spoken—and what could be more frail than that? But some stories, small, simple ones about setting out on adventures or people doing wonders, tales of miracles and monsters, have outlasted all the people who told them, and some of them have outlasted the lands in which they were created."
— Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things (via thymoss)
Saying the names of things —
capstan, hawser, loam, leaf, furnace.
Your face, your mouth, your shoulder
inconceivable to me now!
Where did they go? It’s like
I dreamed them. The stones we brought
home from the beach lie face up
on the windowsill, cooling.
Come home. Do you hear?
My lungs are thick with the smoke
of your absence."
— Raymond Carver, from “A Forge, and a Scythe” (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
— Albert Camus, A Happy Death (via sisyphean-revolt)
i think the name ‘frodo’ has a certain ring to it
whenever you’re in a situation where you need motivation just whisper “give ‘em the old razzle dazzle” to yourself and proceed to...
- “Nature is a temple in which living columns sometimes emit confused words. Man approaches it through forests of symbols, which observe him with...”