#ill

Doctors are great--as long as you don't need them. ↗

— Edward E. Rosenbaum

#illness #medicine #medicine

While we are looking for the antidote or the medicine to cure us, that is, the 'new', which can only be found by plunging deep into the Unknown, we have to go on exploring sex, books, and travel, although we know that they lead us to the abyss, which, as it happens, is the only place where the antidote can be found. ↗

— Roberto Bolaño

#bolano #books #literature-and-illness #sex #travel

Because I do not wish to know,” he says. “I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark. ↗

— Erin Morgenstern

#appreciation

Like many highly educated people, I didn't have much in the way of actual skills. ↗

— J. Maarten Troost

#skills #education

But with me, you are never just a spring faerie. ↗

— Aprilynne Pike

#illusions #laurel #tamani #wings #spring

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pool singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire, Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone. ↗

— Sara Teasdale

#spring

Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness. ↗

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

#creative #darkness #decide #destructive #every

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#born #forests #grew #hill #i

Conditioned to ecstasy, the poet is like a gorgeous unknown bird mired in the ashes of thought. If he succeeds in freeing himself, it is to make a sacrificial flight to the sun. His dreams of a regenerate world are but the reverberations of his own fevered pulse beats. He imagines the world will follow him, but in the blue he finds himself alone. Alone but surrounded by his creations; sustained, therefore, to meet the supreme sacrifice. The impossible has been achieved; the duologue of author with Author is consummated. And now forever through the ages the song expands, warming all hearts, penetrating all minds. At the periphery the world is dying away; at the center it glows like a live coal. In the great solar heart of the universe the golden birds are gathered in unison. There it is forever dawn, forever peace, harmony and communion. Man does not look to the sun in vain; he demands light and warmth not for the corpse which he will one day discard but for his inner being. His greatest desire is to burn with ecstasy, to commerge his little flame with the central fire of the universe. If he accords the angels wings so that they may come to him with messages of peace, harmony and radiance from worlds beyond, it is only to nourish his own dreams of flight, to sustain his own belief that he will one day reach beyond himself, and on wings of gold. One creation matches another; in essence they are all alike. The brotherhood of man consists not in thinking alike, nor in acting alike, but in aspiring to praise creation. The song of creation springs from the ruins of earthly endeavor. The outer man dies away in order to reveal the golden bird which is winging its way toward divinity. ↗

— Henry Miller

#henry-miller #age

If all printers were determined not to print anything till they were sure it would offend nobody, there would be very little printed. ↗

— Benjamin Franklin

#determined #little #nobody #offend #print