John Legend - You & I (Nobody in the World) | (4:12)
“You fix your make up, just so/ Guess you don’t know that you’re beautiful/ Try on every dress that you own/ You were fine in my eyes a half hour ago/ And if your mirror won’t/ make it any clearer/ I’ll be the one to let you know…”
Dedicated to my cousin and her newlywed husband, who danced their first dance as a married couple to this song.
“I will be dying and so will you, and so will everyone here. That’s what I want to explore. We’re all hurtling towards death, yet here we are for the moment, alive. Each of us knowing we’re going to die, each of us secretly believing we won’t.”—Philip Seymour Hoffman in Synecdoche, New York. (via balltillifall)
“You need to grab whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry about other people too much. My experience tells me that we get no more than two or three such chances in a lifetime, and if we let them go, we regret it for the rest of our lives.”—Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
“It feels good to think about you when I’m warm in bed. I feel as if you’re curled up there beside me, fast asleep. And I think how great it would be if it were true.”—Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via larmoyante)
The entire idea of rereading implies just such a likeable and progressive assumption about life, one that’s meant to keep us interested in living it: namely, that as you get further along, you find out more valuable stuff; familiarity doesn’t always give way to dreary staleness, but often in fact to celestial understandings; that life and literature both are layered affairs you can work down through.
Rereading a treasured and well-used book is a very different enterprise from reading a book the first time. It’s not that you don’t enter the same river twice. You actually do. It’s just not the same you who does the entering. By the time you get to the second go-round, you probably know—and know more about—what you don’t know, and are possibly more comfortable with that, at least in theory. And you come to a book the second or third time with a different hunger, a more settled sense about how far off the previously-mentioned great horizon really is for you, and what you do and don’t have time for, and what you might reasonably hope to gain from a later look.
“The way to get over creative block is to simply place some constraints on yourself. It seems contradictory, but when it comes to creative work, limitations mean freedom. Write a song on your lunch break. Paint a painting with only one color. Start a business without any start-up capital. Shoot a movie with your iPhone and a few of your friends. Build a machine out of spare parts. Don’t make excuses for not working — make things with the time, space, and materials you have, right now.”—
<3 I know this post might sound narcissistic, but I think the drive to care and show unconditional love for a partner is often not directed inward at ourselves. Shouldn’t you care for yourself? Take care of your heart and happiness? One of my greatest sources of happiness is my ability to love being alone, in my room - I want to be able to take that outdoors too.
“Cheating is easy. There’s no swank to infidelity. To borrow against the trust someone has placed in you costs nothing at first. You get away with it, you take a little more and a little more until there is no more to draw on. Oddly, your hands should be full with all that taking but when you open them there’s nothing there.”—Written on the Body | Jeanette Winterson
“You try every trick in the book to keep her. You write her letters. You drive her to work. You quote Neruda. You compose a mass e-mail disowning all your sucias. You block their e-mails. You change your phone number. You stop drinking. You stop smoking. You claim you’re a sex addict and start attending meetings. You blame your father. You blame your mother. You blame the patriarchy. You blame Santo Domingo. You find a therapist. You cancel your Facebook. You give her the passwords to all your e-mail accounts. You start taking salsa classes like you always swore you would so that the two of you could dance together. You claim that you were sick, you claim that you were weak—It was the book! It was the pressure!—and every hour like clockwork you say that you’re so so sorry. You try it all, but one day she will simply sit up in bed and say, No more, and, Ya, and you will have to move from the Harlem apartment that you two have shared. You consider not going. You consider a squat protest. In fact, you say won’t go. But in the end you do.”—This is How You Lose Her | Junot Diaz
“It’s time, my friend: it’s time! The heart wants rest –
the days slip by, the hours take away
fragments of our life: and you and I
plan how to live and, – just like that – we die.
No happiness on earth, yet there’s freedom, peace.
I’ve long dreamt of an enviable fate –
I’ve long thought, a weary slave, to fly
to some far place of labour and true joy.”—Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), “It’s Time” (via fyodors)