#ado

Speak you too, speak as the last, say out your say. Speak- But don’t split off No from Yes. Give your say this meaning too: Give it the shadow. Give it shadow enough, Give it as much As you know is spread round you from Midnight to midday and midnight. Look around: See how things all come alive- By death! Alive! Speaks true who speaks shadow. But now the place shrinks, where you stand: Where now, shadow-stripped, where? Climb. Grope upwards. Thinner you grow, less knowable, finer! Finer: a thread The star wants to descend on: So as to swim down beliow, down here Where it sees itself shimmer:in the swell Of wandering words. ↗

— Paul Celan

#speak #truth #words #death

Verily, a man without fear is either dead or happy to die. ↗

— Wayne Gerard Trotman

#chi-ro-jin #fear #fear-of-death #fear-of-dying #fearlessness

The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. ↗

— Percy Bysshe Shelley

#elegy #john-keats #death

Mientras pensamos en el presente, se está convirtiendo en pasado. ↗

— Qiu Xiaolong

#presente #death

Midnight" The hours glide Like drops of water on a window pane Midnight silence Fear unrolls in the air And the wind hides at the bottom of the well OH It's a leaf We think the earth is going to end Time stirs in the shadow Everyone is asleep A SIGH Inside the house someone has just died ↗

— Vicente Huidobro

#death #fear #midnight #night #shadow

The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we’re bound. ↗

— David Mutti Clark

#death-and-dying #griot #music #spirituality #troubadour

Its okay, Beth.I don't want my life to go back to the way it was before i met you.I thought i had it all,but really i was missing something. feel like a completely different person now.This might sound corny,but i feel like i've been asleep for a long time and you've just woken me up... ↗

— Alexandra Adornetto

#halo #love #xavier #life

Anyone can write. Some people can write a bit better than others; they're called authors. Then there are some who can write better than authors; they're called artists. ↗

— Walter Moers

#the-city-of-dreaming-books #walter-moers #dreams

You’re livin’ in Badass World, baby,” he whispered in my ear. “Fair warning, until I fix what I cut in you, you’re there to stay. ↗

— Kristen Ashley

#hawk-delgado #dreams

So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one, in the end -- not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words 'I have something to tell you,' a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in a thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children. ↗

— Brian Doyle

#dreams