|Interviewer:||Some people say they can't understand your writing, even after they have read it two or three times. What approach would you suggest for them?|
|William Faulkner:||Read it four times.|
And shares our bed and eats at our own table …."
— W.H. Auden, Collected Poetry, 1945 (via fewthistle)
The Stone House on Balch Creek: Portland, Oregon
Source: jamzik (flickr)
Vladimir Nabokov, A Letter That Never Reached Russia (via larmoyante)
— HP Lovecraft (via journalofanobody)
— Clarissa Pinkola Estés (via hefted)
“I love dreams, even when they’re nightmares, which is usually the case. My dreams are full of the same obstacles, but it doesn’t matter. My amour fou for the dreams themselves as I shared with the surrealists. “Un Chien Andalou” was born of the encounter between my dreams and [Salvador Dalí]’s. Later, I brought the dreams directly into my films, trying as hard as I could to avoid any analysis. ‘Don’t worry if the movie’s too short’, I once told a Mexican producer. ‘I’ll just put in a dream.’ He was not impressed.”
Luis Buñuel, born on this day.
February 22, 1900 - July 29, 1983
the universe waits, inexhaustible, inviting."
— Jorge Luis Borges (via fuckyeahjorgeluisborges)