"I’m not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost."

A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

(via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

"Of course that is not the whole story, but that is the way with stories; we make them what we will. It’s a way of explaining the universe while leaving the universe unexplained, it’s a way of keeping it all alive, not boxing it into time. Everyone who tells a story tells it differently, just to remind us that everybody sees it differently."

Jeanette WintersonOranges Are Not the Only Fruit

(via ecritureacreature)

(Source: bookmania)

literature meme — five poets [1/5]

Fernando Pessoa (1888 - 1935)

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa was a Portuguese poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher and philosopher, described as one of the most significant literary figures of the 20th century and one of the greatest poets in the Portuguese language. He also wrote in and translated from English and French.

His father, Joaquim de Seabra Pessoa, died of tuberculosis when Pessoa was young. At the age of five or six Pessoa began to address letters to an imaginary companion, named Le Chevalier de Pas, the precursor of his other imaginary figures. Maria Madalena Nogueira Pessoa, his mother, married the Portuguese consul in Durban in South Africa, where the family lived from 1896. During these years Pessoa became fluent in English and developed an early love for such authors as William Shakespeare and John Milton. He also composed his early poems in English. In a letter to the editor of the British Journal of Astrology, Pessoa confessed that English education had been a factor of supreme importance in his life. However, his best poems he wrote in Portuguese. Pessoa was educated in Cape Town.

He studied briefly at the University of Lisbon, and began to publish criticism, prose, and poetry soon thereafter while working as a commercial translator.

During his life, most of Pessoa’s considerable creative output appeared only in journals, and he published just three collections of poetry in English—Antinous (1918), Sonnets (1918), and English Poems (1921)—and one collection in Portuguese, Mensagem (1933).

In 1914, the year his first poem was published, Pessoa found the three main literary personas, or heteronyms, as he called them, which he would return to throughout his career: Alberto Caeiro, a rural, uneducated poet of great ideas who wrote in free verse; Ricardo Reis, a physician who composed formal odes influenced by Horace; and Álvaro de Campos, an adventurous London-based naval engineer influenced by poet Walt Whitman and the Italian Futurists. Pessoa published under his own name as well, but considered that work the product of an “orthonym,” another literary persona. While other notable writers of his generation used literary personas, such as Pound’s Mauberley and Rilke’s Malte Laurids Brigge, Pessoa alone gave his heteronyms a full life separate from his own, assigning and adopting in turn each persona’s psychology, aesthetics, and politics. Pessoa’s insistence on identity as a flexible, dynamic construction, and his consequent rejection of traditional notions of authorship and individuality, anticipated the concerns of the post-Modernist movement.

Later in life, Pessoa created the “semi-heteronym” Bernardo Soares, whose expansive, unbound fictional journal written over a period of 20 years (and assembled with little guidance after Pessoa’s death) became The Book of Disquiet, as well as philosopher and sociologist António Mora, essayist Baron of Teive, critic and Caeiro scholar Thomas Crosse and his brother/collaborator I.I. Crosse, poet Coelho Pacheco, astrologer Raphael Baldaya, and many others, for a total of at least 72 heteronyms.

Pessoa died in Lisbon in 1935 of cirrhosis of the liver [although that is being disputed nowadays], and only after his death did his work gain widespread publication and acclaim. In The Western Canon, critic Harold Bloom included Pessoa as one of just 26 writers responsible for establishing the parameters of western literature.

His last words were written in English, one day before his death: "I know not what tomorrow will bring."

[x] [x] [x]

(via allinablur:)

“People sometimes sneer at those who run every day, claiming they’ll go to any length to live longer. But don’t think that’s the reason most people run. Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you to do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life — and for me, for writing as whole. I believe many runners would agree” 
 ― Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
(via vintageanchorbooks:)

“People sometimes sneer at those who run every day, claiming they’ll go to any length to live longer. But don’t think that’s the reason most people run. Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you to do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life — and for me, for writing as whole. I believe many runners would agree” 

― Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

(via vintageanchorbooks:)

"I’ve had lots of happy moments. I’ve been lucky. But I always think the happiest moment hasn’t happened yet."

Carol Shields, The Republic of Love

(via bookmania)

"When she was young she had learned to caress the phrases of Chopin with their sinuous and excessively long necks, so free, so flexible, so tactile, which begin by seeking out and exploring a place for themselves far outside and away from the direction in which they started, far beyond the point which one might have expected them to reach, and which frolic in their fantasy distance only to come back more deliberately — with a more premeditated return, with more precision, as though upon a crystal glass that resonates until you cry out — to strike you in the heart."

Marcel ProustSwann’s Way. Trans. Lydia Davis. New York: Penguin, 2002. p. 344.

Chopin’s phases are not unlike the extenuated phrase that Proust himself often utilizes.

(via emmadelosnardos)

"You get a strange feeling when
you’re about to leave a place, - I told him, -
like you’ll not only miss the people you love
but you’ll miss the person you are now
at this time and this place,
because you’ll never be this way ever again."

Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran

(via graceandcompany)

(Source: fables-of-the-reconstruction)

"When I’d first loved him, I wanted to take him apart, as a child dismembers a clockwork toy, to comprehend the inscrutable mechanics of its interior."

Angela Carter, Flesh and the Mirror

(via vulturechow)

(Source: souvenirsandlostluggage)

"The eternal principle, which never was born, never will die: it is in all things: it is in you now. You are a wave on the face of the ocean. When the wave is gone, is the water gone? Has anything happened? Nothing has happened. It is a play, a game, a dance."
Joseph Campbell, Baksheesh & Brahman
"Art never responds to the wish to make it democratic; it is not for everybody; it is only for those who are willing to undergo the effort needed to understand it."

Flannery O’Connor; Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose

(via wordpainting)

"She wasn’t a person to whom things happen. She did all the happenings."

Muriel Spark, Aiding and Abetting

(via stuff—n—things)

"Sometimes a wind comes before the rain and sends birds sailing past the window, spirit birds that ride the night, stranger than dreams."
Don DeLillo, from Point Omega (Scribner, 2010)

(Source: the-final-sentence)

"By telling you anything at all I’m at least believing in you, I believe you’re there, I believe you into being. Because I’m telling you this story I will your existence. I tell, therefore you are."

Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

(via violentwavesofemotion)

The Little Prince was published on April 6, 1943 – celebrate with Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s gorgeous original watercolors 

(via explore-blog:)

"I feel alone. I don’t mean I feel lonely; I mean I feel alone, the same way I feel the blanket resting on my body, or the feathers of my pillow under my head, or the tight string of my sleep pants twisted up around my waist. I feel alone as if it were an actual thing, seeping throughout this whole level like mist blanketing a field, reaching into all the hidden corners of my room and finding nothing living but me. It’s a cold sort of feeling, this."

Beth Revis, A Million Suns

(via quotestuff)

(Source: vrban)