/ Ask Archive

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.



Naomi Shihab Nye, “Kindness” (via
oofpoetry)
kotayosi:

cy twombly
Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.

Henry Miller. (via
trentaine)

(Source: rochelledelaroche, via trentaine)

At what moment does a house stop being a house? When the roof is taken off? When the windows are removed? When the walls are knocked down? At what moment does it become a pile of rubble? She’s just different, he would say, there’s nothing wrong with her. And then one day the walls of your house finally collapse. If the door is still standing, however, all you have to do is walk through it, and you are back inside. It’s pleasant sleeping out under the stars. Never mind the rain. It can’t last very long.

Paul Auster, The Invention of Solitude (via
sexymnymphos)
One of the greatest tragedies in life is to lose your own sense of self and accept the version of you that is expected by everyone else.

K.L. Toth  (via
sisyphean-revolt)

(Source: quotes-shape-us, via sisyphean-revolt)

once, to celebrate a bad mood
we broke all the clean dishes.

Heather Christie (via coffeeslut)

(via lifeinpoetry)

Il pleure…il voudrait aimer tout le monde
Il ne peut pas aimer…
Il ne peut que respecter ou haïr…
Il pleure.

La crosse en l’air; Jacques Prévert  (via
envertudelamour)
dada4you:

Csohány Kálmán

bienenkiste:

Photographed by Jo Metson Scott for Union Magazine

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