[August 30]. Cold and empty. I feel only too strongly the limits of my abilities, narrow limits, doubtless, unless I am completely inspired. And I believe that even in the grip of inspiration I am swept along only within these narrow limits, which, however, I then no longer feel because I am being swept along. Nevertheless, within these limits there is room to live, for this reason I shall probably exploit them to a despicable degree.
via raccoonology
(Source: internetflexin, via excellentchoice)
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break.
— William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew
(Source: larmoyante, via penseesduchoeur)
(Source: nopeaceamaru, via youbroketheinternet)
Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of Hell. — Hermann Hesse
(Source: likeafieldmouse, via broptimus-prime)
(via dwsc)
