evol.ve

stories. love. things. fashion. people.

Stop worrying about your identity and concern yourself with the people you care about, ideas that matter to you, beliefs you can stand by, tickets you can run on. Intelligent humans make those choices with their brain and hearts and they make them alone. The world does not deliver meaning to you. You have to make it meaningful…and decide what you want and need and must do. It’s a tough, unimaginably lonely and complicated way to be in the world. But that’s the deal: you have to live; you can’t live by slogans, dead ideas, clichés, or national flags. Finding an identity is easy. It’s the easy way out.

Zadie Smith, On Beauty  (via aminaabramovic)

(Source: literaryjukebox.brainpickings.org, via lifeinpoetry)

Give up the notion that you must be sure of what you are doing. Instead, surrender to what is real within you, for that alone is sure.

—Baruch Spinoza (via likeafieldmouse)

Okay. Deal

(via unicornhornsandglitter)

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.

Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists.. it is real.. it is possible.. it’s yours.

There’s nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood. And understanding someone else.

Brad Meltzer, The Inner Circle (via luminim)

The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.

Auguste Rodin (via misswallflower)

You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen.

Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via misswallflower)

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

Ellen Bass, "The Thing Is" (via commovente)

(via lifeinpoetry)