#oblivion

Now I think poetry will save nothing from oblivion, but I keep writing about the ordinary because for me it's the home of the extraordinary, the only home. ↗

— Philip Levine

#because #extraordinary #home #i #i think

An artist, under pain of oblivion, must have confidence in himself, and listen only to his real master: Nature. ↗

— Auguste Renoir

#confidence #himself #his #listen #master

Those who travel to mountain-tops are half in love with themselves, and half in love with oblivion. ↗

— Robert Macfarlane

#arrogance #humility #inspirational #mountaineering #mountains

Yo ya no sé que escribir... Es mi forma de saber que ya te olvidé ↗

— J. Porcupine

#escribir #love #oblivion #olvido #writing

[Horror fiction] shows us that the control we believe we have is purely illusory, and that every moment we teeter on chaos and oblivion. ↗

— Clive Barker

#horror #illusion #oblivion #reality #truth

We are living in the machine age. For the first time in history the comedian has been compelled to supply himself with jokes and comedy material to compete with the machine. Whether he knows it or not, the comedian is on a treadmill to oblivion. ↗

— Fred Allen

#been #comedian #comedy #compelled #compete

A book is a fragile creature, it suffers the wear of time, it fears rodents, the elements and clumsy hands. so the librarian protects the books not only against mankind but also against nature and devotes his life to this war with the forces of oblivion. ↗

— Umberto Eco

#also #book #books #clumsy #creature

Apathy is a sort of living oblivion. ↗

— Horace Greeley

#living #oblivion #sort

Do not let arguments of expediency persuade you. That is the slow road to oblivion. That is the tortured path to undoing step by step, bit by bit, as the river creates a canyon, the way of life that we love. ↗

— Charles Schumer

#canyon #creates #expediency #life #love

...she imagines her body curled in the narrow monk's bed, knees to chin, her own irrefutable geography, but she sees the blood of her futile heart seeping out over her chest and arms and legs, flooding across the rough wooden floor, down the narrow wooden stairs and out into the old soil of the garden. No roses, no, she does not even ask to make roses, just dissolution; most any night she asks just for that. ↗

— Michelle Latiolais

#emptiness #grief #grieving #loss #lost-love