there is such a thing as a swisskit

The Best Things In Life Dont Come Easy, Y'know We Used To Kill To Eat?

Remember, a man with absolute power in one windblown piece of desert or one backwoods shantytown has more power than the President of the United States. He’s got the immediate power of Death.

—~ William S. Burroughs (The Western Lands)

(Source: criminalwisdom)

I am opposing a social order in which it is possible for one man who does absolutely nothing that is useful to amass a fortune of hundreds of millions of dollars, while millions of men and women who work all the days of their lives secure barely enough for a wretched existence.

—Eugene Debs (via thoughtfulchild)

Death in the movies is the death I understand. A last breath forced out by an invisible gutpunch; bullets lifting the body up ever so slightly before it falls backward in a tumbling heap; the dimpled grin of an asphyxiation high as lungs overflow like bathtubs; the name of a loved one, one last time, then eyelids that are shut with a swoop of hand. But I don’t know if that’s what death truly looks like, away from the romantic sheen of film. No one really dies in my family. Not yet.

splintersandmilkshakes:

“Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” 

 
― G.K. Chesterton

It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.

—Henry David Thoreau (via poetdreamer)

If you don’t feel it, flee from it. Go where you are celebrated, not merely tolerated.

—Paul F. Davis (via myquotelibrary)

(via myquotelibrary)

splintersandmilkshakes:

“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me… Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” 

 
― Shel Silverstein

visual-poetry: “translating war into peace” by armando milani

visual-poetry:

“translating war into peace” by armando milani

One’s life is more formed, I sometimes think, by books than by human beings: it is out of books one learns about love and pain at second hand. Even if we have the happy chance to fall in love, it is because we have been conditioned by what we have read, and if I had never known love at all, perhaps it was because my father’s library had not contained the right books.

—Graham Greene, Travels With My Aunt (via doubledaybooks)

Time isn’t an orderly stream. Time isn’t a placid lake recording each of our ripples. Time is viscous. Time is a massive flow. It is a self-healing substance, which is to say, almost everything will be lost.

—How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe by Charles Yu (via crossettlibrary)

gaws: “Soft glow: people are in their houses, they have undoubtedly turned on the lights too. They read, they watch the sky from their window. For them it means something different. They have aged differently. They live in the midst of legacies, gifts, each piece of furniture holds a memory. Clocks, medallions, portraits, shells, paperweights, screens, shawls. They have closets full of bottles, stuffs, old clothes, newspapers; they have kept everything. The past is a landlord’s luxury. Where shall I keep mine? You don’t put your past in your pocket; you have to have a house. I have only my body: a man entirely alone, with his lonely body, cannot indulge in memories; they pass through him. I shouldn’t complain: all I wanted was to be free.” excerpt taken from Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre

gaws:

“Soft glow: people are in their houses, they have undoubtedly turned on the lights too. They read, they watch the sky from their window. For them it means something different. They have aged differently. They live in the midst of legacies, gifts, each piece of furniture holds a memory. Clocks, medallions, portraits, shells, paperweights, screens, shawls. They have closets full of bottles, stuffs, old clothes, newspapers; they have kept everything. The past is a landlord’s luxury.

Where shall I keep mine? You don’t put your past in your pocket; you have to have a house. I have only my body: a man entirely alone, with his lonely body, cannot indulge in memories; they pass through him. I shouldn’t complain: all I wanted was to be free.”

excerpt taken from Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre

(via invisible-lines)