2:17 pm - Thu, Jul 24, 2014
50 notes
The moon in all her immaculate purity hung in the sky, laughing at this world of dust. She congratulated me for my carefully considered maneuvers and invited me to share in her eternal solitude.
Shan Sa, Empress  (via artemisdreaming)

(via artemisdreaming)

9:06 am
62 notes
1:35 pm - Tue, Jul 22, 2014
155 notes
There is always another breath in my breath, another thought in my thought, another possession in what I possess, a thousand things and a thousand beings implicated in my complications: every true thought is an aggression. It is not a question of our undergoing influences, but of being ‘insufflations’ and fluctuations, or merging with them. That everything is so ‘complicated,’ that I may be an other, that something else thinks in us in an aggression which is the aggression of thought, in a multiplication which is the multiplication of the body, or in a violence which is the violence of language—this is the joyful message. For we are so sure of living again (without resurrection) only because so many beings and things think in us…
Gilles Deleuze, “Phantasm and Modern Literature,” The Logic of Sense (via heteroglossia)

(via bitcoitus)

12:11 pm
192 notes
muntezirbiraderler:

Decoration on the entrance to Imam Hussein (a.s) Shrine

muntezirbiraderler:

Decoration on the entrance to Imam Hussein (a.s) Shrine

(via beautyofiran)

12:37 pm - Mon, Jul 21, 2014
46 notes
Pride is an established conviction of one’s own paramount worth in some particular respect, while vanity is the desire of rousing such a conviction in others, and it is generally accompanied by the secret hope of ultimately coming to the same conviction oneself. Pride works from within; it is the direct appreciation of oneself. Vanity is the desire to arrive at this appreciation indirectly, from without.
Arthur Schopenhauer (via itsquoted)
12:25 pm
65 notes
theraccolta:

And Eliseus saw him, and cried: My father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the driver thereof. And he saw him no more: and he took hold of his own garments, and rent them in two pieces. - 2 Kings 2:12

theraccolta:

And Eliseus saw him, and cried: My father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the driver thereof. And he saw him no more: and he took hold of his own garments, and rent them in two pieces. - 2 Kings 2:12

(Source: occident, via the-unknown-friend)

8:27 am
96,936 notes

(Source: ferreadomina, via bitcoitus)

3:56 pm - Sun, Jul 20, 2014
11 notes

The Aboriginals had an earthbound philosophy. The earth gave life to a man; gave him his food, language and intelligence; and the earth took him back when he died. A man’s ‘own country’, even an empty stretch of spinifex, was itself a sacred icon that must remain unscarred.

'Unscarred, you mean, by roads or mines or railways?'

'To wound the earth', he answered earnestly, 'is to wound yourself, and if others wound the earth, they are wounding you. The land should be left untouched: as it was in the Dreamtime when the Ancestors sang the world into existence.'

Bruce Chatwin, The Songlines (1987)
3:55 pm
14 notes
Some American brain specialists took encephalograh reading of travellers. They found that changes of scenery and awareness of the passage of seasons trough the year stimulated the rhythms of the brain, contributing to a sense of well-being and an active purpose in life. Monotonous surroundings and tedious regular activities wove patterns wich produce fatigue, nervous disorders, apathy, self-disgust and violent reactions.
[…]
We all have adrenalin. We cannot drain it from our systems or pray it will evaporate. Deprived of danger we invent artificial enemies, psychosomatic illnesses, tax-collectors, and, worst of all,ourselves, if we are left alone in the single room.
Bruce Chatwin, It’s a Nomad Nomad World in Anatomy of Restlessness (via glorfinn)

(via glorfinn)

3:54 pm
33 notes
If this were so; if the desert were ‘home’; if our instincts were forged in the desert; to survive the rigours of the desert - then it is easier to understand why greener pastures pall on us; why possessions exhaust us, and why Pascal’s imaginary man found his comfortable lodgings a prison.
Bruce Chatwin, The Songlines (via mythologyofblue)
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