“What is art? A declaration of love: the consciousness of our dependence on each other. A confession. An unconscious act that nonetheless reflects the true meaning of life—love and sacrifice.”
— Andrei Tarkovsky
when the mind has once begun to yield to the weakness of superstition, trifles impress it with the force of conviction.
The Mysteries of Udolpho, Ann Radcliffe
“I feel entirely dehumanised by the sun now and wish for fog, snow, rain, humanity.”
— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Edward Sackville-West c. September 1926
“I’m not sure which is worse: intense feeling, or the absence of it.”
— Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin (via surqrised)
friends that understand your anti-social phases and don’t take it personally are important.
A View of Coburg from a Window of Schloss Callenberg, 1843 by Ferdinand Zschäck (German, 1801–1877)
