If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, I will answer you: “I am here to live out loud
—Emile Zola (via firefliesinthelabyrinth)
From childhood I had never believed in permanence, and yet I had longed for it. Always I was afraid of losing happiness.
—The Quiet American (via peacelovecasey)
Time has its revenges, but revenges seem so often sour. Wouldn’t we all do better not trying to understand, accepting the fact that no human being will ever understand another, not a wife a husband, a lover a mistress, nor a parent a child? Perhaps that’s why men have invented God- a being capable of understanding. Perhaps if I wanted to be understood or to understand I would bam-boozle myself into belief, but I am a reporter; God exists only for leader-writers.
—Graham Greene, The Quiet American (via redlens)
Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you’re really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I’ve got a few missing. It’s okay though, because I’ve got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who’s an 8 color type…I’m like, hey girl, Magenta! and she’s like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I’m like, no I want Magenta!
Don’t you hate that? Uncomfortable silence. Why do we feel it’s necessary to talk about bull in order to feel comfortable? That’s when you know you’ve found somebody really special. When you can just shut the hell up for a minute and comfortably share a silence.