book parts.

“sometimes people let the same problems make them miserable for years when they should just...

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 13:08:06 -0500

“sometimes people let the same problems make them miserable for years when they should just say so what. that’s one of my favorite things to say. so what.

i don’t know how i made it through all the years before i learned how to do that trick. it took a long time for me to learn it, but once you do you never forget.”

-andy warhol

"Will? You? I. Want. You. To."

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 08:49:18 -0400

“Will? You? I. Want. You. To.”

- ulysses.

"I feel so sad. P.S. So lonely blooming."

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 08:40:26 -0400

“I feel so sad. P.S. So lonely blooming.”

- ulysses.

“i’m sorry, he said. shakespeare is the happy hunting-ground of all minds that have lost...

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 08:39:29 -0400

“i’m sorry, he said. shakespeare is the happy hunting-ground of all minds that have lost their balance.”

james joyce. ulysses.

“the whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urged stephen to...

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 08:38:23 -0400

“the whirr of flapping leathern bands and hum of dynamos from the powerhouse urged stephen to be on. beingless beings. stop! throb always without you and the throb always within. your heart you sing of. i between them. where? between two roaring worlds where they swirl, i. shatter them, one and both. but stun myself too with the blow. shatter me you who can. bawd and butcher, were the words. i say! not yet awhile. a look around.”

james joyce. ulysses.

closertotheocean: finallyseeing: casimirpulaskiday-: littlespa...

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 13:37:52 -0400

closertotheocean:

finallyseeing:

casimirpulaskiday-:

littlesparrow:

oldfilmsflicker:seularen: (via loveyourchaos)

ulysses ♥

“i have often asked myself why i keep books that could only ever be of any use in a distant...

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 11:11:54 -0400

“i have often asked myself why i keep books that could only ever be of any use in a distant future, titles remote from my usual concerns, those i have read once and will not open again for many years, if ever! but how could i throw away the call of the wild, for example, without destroying one of the building bricks of my childhood, or zorba the greek, which brought my adolescence to a tear-stained end, the twenty-fifth hour and all those other volumes consigned to the topmost shelves, where they lie untouched and silent in that sacred trust of which we are so proud.

it is often much harder to get rid of books than it is to acquire them. they stick to us in that pact of need and oblivion we make with them, witnesses to a moment in our lives we will never see again. while they are still there, it is part of us. i have noticed that many people make a note of the day, month, and year that they read a book; they build up a secret calendar. others, before lending one, write their name on the flyleaf, note whome they lent it to in an address book, and add the date. i have known some book owners who stamp them or slip a card between their pages the way they do in public libraries. nobody wants to mislay a book. we prefer to lose a ring, a watch, our umbrella, rather than a book whose pages we will never read again, but which retains just in the sound of its title, a remote and perhaps long-lost emotion.”

the house of paper by carlos maria dominguez

Resolutions in a Parked Car

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 12:02:48 -0400

After I’m done pleading with the steering wheel,
after I’m done screaming at the white doors
of the Friendship Inn, no, even while I’m spitting

and howling, I know, yes, this is the way
we find out about ourselves: crying in rental cars
in parking lots in strange cities that are already

too familiar. The huge ship in front of you,
don’t you hope it will soon disembark? Don’t you
hate hotels? Don’t you hate to travel

just to see the same old pockmarks and limps,
the weight carried below the waist
and above? Just look at what we have done

to ourselves, and topped it off with a club sandwich,
a scribble of neon. I’m wailing
like some foreigner in a foreign country

we don’t give a shit about because how could we
understand something as subtle as the mutilation
of ears and lips? Please, I beg you,

perform some crazy rite over me so things can either
finally dissolve or finally become solid.
Please, I need something primitive and complex

to relieve me of this world subdivided into better
and better ways to avoid life. Sicker
and sicker ways. Death cruising
down 90. Laughing. Sweetheart, Death is the least of it.

I’m in a parking lot in Spokane reintroducing myself
to myself. I’m feeling like throwing up.
In a parking lot in Spokane I am resolving

to read Nietzsche, to pierce and tattoo myself,
in a parking lot I’m determining things
about my labia and nose and heart.

- Olena Kalytiak Davis

“at annesley bridge the tram halted and, when it was about to go, an old woman rose suddenly...

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 11:30:48 -0400

“at annesley bridge the tram halted and, when it was about to go, an old woman rose suddenly from her place to alight. the conductor pulled the bellstrap to stay the car for her. she passed out with her basket and a market net: and father conmee saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and father conmee thought that, as she had nearly passed the end of the penny fare, she was one of those good souls who had always to be told twice bless you, my child, that they have been absolved, pray for me. but they had so many worries in life, so many cares, poor creatures.”

ulysses

“he returns after a life of absence to that spot of earth where he was born, where he has...

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 09:48:08 -0400

“he returns after a life of absence to that spot of earth where he was born, where he has always been, man and boy, a silent witness and there, his journey of life ended, he plants his mulberrytree in the earth. then dies. the motion is ended. gravediggers bury hamlet pere and hamlet fils. a king and a prince at last in death, with incidental music. and, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, dane or dubliner, sorrow for the dead is the only husband from whom they refuse to be divorced.”

ulysses.

"folly. persist."

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 09:25:09 -0400

“folly. persist.”

- ulysses.

“art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. the supreme question about a work...

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 09:24:49 -0400

“art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. the supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.”

ulysses.

"They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 12:40:27 -0400

“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (via thoughtsdetained) (via 52hearts) (via stilltime)

“it was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if...

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 07:31:47 -0400

“it was revealed to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they were supremely good nor unless they were good could be corrupted. ah, curse you! that’s saint augustine.”

james joyce. ulysses.

"we were always loyal to lost causes."

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 20:35:07 -0400

“we were always loyal to lost causes.”

- james joyce. ulysses.

“i will appear to you after death. you will see my ghost after death. my ghost will haunt you...

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 10:08:37 -0400

“i will appear to you after death. you will see my ghost after death. my ghost will haunt you after death. there is another world after death named hell. i do not like that other world she wrote. no more do i. plenty to see and hear and feel yet. feel live warm beings near you. let them sleep in their maggoty beds. they are not going to get me this innings. warm beds: warm fullblooded life.”

james joyce. ulysses.

last time i tried to read ulysses, i quit and embroidered james...

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 09:43:47 -0400

last time i tried to read ulysses, i quit and embroidered james joyce instead.

“touch me. soft eyes. soft soft soft hand. i am lonely here. o, touch me soon, now. what is...

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 15:07:37 -0400

“touch me. soft eyes. soft soft soft hand. i am lonely here. o, touch me soon, now. what is that word known to all men? i am quiet here alone. sad too. touch, touch me.”

james joyce, ulysses.

Photo

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 14:47:06 -0400

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he said joyously. “But one day you must feel it. We...

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 12:00:34 -0400

“I knew you wouldn’t,” he said joyously. “But one day you must feel it. We are a generous people but we must also be just.”

“I fear those big words,” Stephen said, “which make us so unhappy.”

James Joyce, Ulysses