Little Bombs

permalink tattoolit:

“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. 
Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. 
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. 
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. 
I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig. 
Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me. 
When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic. 
No rhetoric, no tremolos, 
no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell. 
And of course, no theology, no metaphysics. 
Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light. 
So throw away your baggage and go forward. 
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, 
trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. 
That’s why you must walk so lightly. 
Lightly my darling, 
on tiptoes and no luggage, 
not even a sponge bag, 
completely unencumbered.” 
― Aldous Huxley, Island

tattoolit:

“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. 

Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. 

Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. 

Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. 

I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig. 

Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me. 

When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic. 

No rhetoric, no tremolos, 

no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell. 

And of course, no theology, no metaphysics. 

Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light. 

So throw away your baggage and go forward. 

There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, 

trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. 

That’s why you must walk so lightly. 

Lightly my darling, 

on tiptoes and no luggage, 

not even a sponge bag, 

completely unencumbered.” 

― Aldous Huxley, Island

permalink

When I thought of myself as an adult, all I could imagine was someone thin, and smooth, and calm, to whom things…happened. Some kind of souped-up princess, with a credit card. I didn’t have any notion about self-development, or following my interests, or learning big life lessons, or, most importantly, finding out what I was good at, and trying to earn a living from it.

…I presumed that once I’d cracked being thin, beautiful, stylishly dressed, poised and gracious, everything else would fall into place. That my real life’s work was not a career - but myself. That if I worked on being pleasing, the world would adore, and then reward me.

— ‘How To Be A Woman’, Caitlin Moran (via lifecuration)

(via fuckyeahcaitlinmoran)

permalink
Not was she the passionate hound lady, who performs so tragically on a summers evening with the window open. Passion was there, but it could not be so easily labelled; it slipped between love and hatred and jealousy…
— Room with a view.
permalink fyeahartstudentowl:

The curse of the reversed text.

fyeahartstudentowl:

The curse of the reversed text.