I have been told I’ve got a darkish personality. A few times.”
Takahashi swings his trombone case from his right shoulder to his left. Then he says, “It’s not as if our lives are divided simply into light and dark. There’s shadowy middle ground. Recognizing and understanding the shadows is what a healthy intelligence does. And to acquire a healthy intelligence takes a certain amount of time and effort. I don’t think you have a particularly dark character.
Haruki Murakami= After Dark

There are some things about myself I can’t explain to anyone. There are some things I don’t understand at all. I can’t tell what I think about things or what I’m after. I don’t know what my strengths are or what I’m supposed to do about them. But if I start thinking about these things in too much detail the whole thing gets scary. And if I get scared I can only think about myself. I become really self-centered, and without meaning to, I hurt people. So I’m not such a wonderful human being.
Haruki Murakami= The Elephant Vanishes

Do not believe that everything strong and beautiful will end up as something “ugly and ordinary”, as you put it at this moment of inner turmoil – it cannot end this way because it does not end at all if it was something strong and beautiful. It continues to work its effects in unceasing transformations; it is only that these transformations frequently so vastly exceed our capacity to grasp and endure them. Frequently, when we are frozen by an event or if an event sheds its leaves and petals in front of our eyes in some other violent way, we dig up the soil around it in horror and shrink back from the ugliness of its roots where that which looks to us like transience lives. We have such a limited capacity to be just toward all phenomena and we are so quick to call ugly, as if turning spitefully and vengefully against ourselves, anything that simply does not correspond to the notion of beauty to which we subscribe at that moment. This is often nothing more than a – though often nearly intolerable – shifting of our attention; the clustered appearances of life are still so terribly disconnected and incompatible for our perception. Take a walk in the woods on a spring day. It’s enough for us to allow our gaze to wander briefly into another category of existence to be facing destruction and disintegration rather than to be looking at life, and to perceive instead of joy, desolation; to feel instead of harmonious vibrations petrified, even exiled, from any insight and participation and commonality. But what does this say against spring? What against the forest? What against us? What, finally, against our possibilities, to relate to and to recognise each other? Wherever our attention is thus redirected in our soul, in our interiority, it is of course all the more assaulting and disturbing - but one would call this shift “ugly and common” only if one recognised it as nothing but a conventional disillusionment or disappointment and not as the task to grasp an unceasingly particular, unique and incomparable metamorphosis in all of its peculiar reality.
- Rainer Marie Rilke; Letters on Life

Makes me think of  Vincent Van Gogh paintings..

"And now I understand what you tried to say to me 
How you suffered for your sanity 
How you tried to set them free. 
They would not listen 
They did not know how 
Perhaps they’ll listen now. ”


We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (via d-ivinations)

(Source: durianseeds)

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And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via minusmanhattan)

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