Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via modernhepburn)
I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something.
For this world also which seems to us a thing of stone and flower and blood is not a thing at all but is a tale … All is telling. Do not doubt it.
To create, we must kill. Abstract ideas are wild creatures that, in the making of art, end up on the dinner plate.
Never apologize for burning too brightly or collapsing into yourself every night. That is how galaxies are made.
Tyler Kent White (via elenamjacobs)
don’t let the patriarchy steal your basic human rights