Save this one for a night when all you want is for your brain to let you rest. Too often I go to bed, my body exhausted, my mind unable to stop moving. Luckily, there’s this masterful version of “Once Upon a December” from the (highly underrated) animated movie Anastasia. It’s a perfect piece to guide you to a peaceful slumber, because this music? It’s the stuff of dreams.
Kill the idea that naivety is an unforgivable flaw but cynicism is just wisdom, murder it, chop it up and serve it for dinner, I don’t care, just end this bullshit idea that it’s better to hate than to love and better to rot in miserable bitter resignation than to hope for the best.
“If you could only see what you’re not seeing! If you could only take in all the complex layers of horrors that lie just beyond your range of sight. If you could only see the world as it really is: it is awful, and on fire, and beautiful.”—Welcome to Night Vale, episode 26, ’Faceless Old Woman’ (via elucipher)
“Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”—Andrew Boy (via silentsigh57)
“Tomorrow you’ll forget
that I have crowned you,
that I burned my flowering soul with love,
and the whirling carnival of trivial days
will ruffle the pages of my books…
Would the dry leaves of my words
force you to a stop
gasping for air?
At least let me
pave with a parting endearment
your retreating path.”—Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky, Lilichka (via arm-yourself-with-books)
“I remember when I was younger and I wanted to be beautiful; now I’m older and I want to be intelligent. I want to burn hearts with brilliance and engulf souls with compassion. I want to be loved for my thoughts and nothing else.”—(via radicalteen)
“Depression is such a cruel punishment. There are no fevers, no rashes, no blood tests to send people scurrying in concern. Just the slow erosion of the self, as insidious as any cancer. And, like cancer, it is essentially a solitary experience. A room in hell with only your name on the door.”—Unknown (via noirdunuit)