davidsimonton:

André Malraux selecting photographs for the Imaginary Museum, c1947, Photo by Maurice Jarnoux

davidsimonton:

André Malraux selecting photographs for the Imaginary Museum, c1947, Photo by Maurice Jarnoux

(via thejazzloftproject)

I was never there. Absent, always. It all happened without me. I don’t know what’s happened.  —Samuel Beckett (via blackestdespondency)

(via blackestdespondency)

The only fertile research is excavatory, immersive, a contraction of the spirit, a descent. The artist is active, but negatively, shrinking from the nullity of extracircumferential phenomena, drawn in to the core of the eddy.  —Samuel Beckett (via this-leif)
my-quiet-eyes:

Shoutout to Samuel Beckett for becoming one of my favorite playwrights.

my-quiet-eyes:

Shoutout to Samuel Beckett for becoming one of my favorite playwrights.

lapitiedangereuse:

Beckett laughing

lapitiedangereuse:

Beckett laughing

It will be I? It will be the silence, where I am? I don’t know, I’ll never know: in the silence you don’t know.

You must go on.

I can’t go on.

I’ll go on.
 —Samuel Beckett; The Unnamable (via marry-the-nightt)
The tears stream down my cheeks from my unblinking eyes. What makes me weep so? There is nothing saddening here. Perhaps it is liquefied brain.  —Samuel Beckett; The Unnamable (via marry-the-nightt)

brideofquietness:

Then one day, suddenly, it ends, it changes, I don’t understand, it dies, or it’s me, I don’t understand that either. I ask the words that remain— sleeping, waking, morning, evening. They have nothing to say.
—  Endgame, Samuel Beckett
I open my eyes and gaze unblinkingly and long at the night sky. So a tiny tot I gaped, first at the novelties, then at the antiquities. Between it and me the pane, misted and smeared with the filth of years. I should like to breathe on it, but it is too far away.  —Samuel Beckett; Malone Dies (via forgottencityiram)

(Source: robcam-wfu, via forgottencityiram)

(Source: yogaboi, via inablogs)

beelze-bat:

Swans - In My Garden

In my garden
Things grow in my garden
Things will grow
Then they die
Then they fall away
Then they’re gone

The sun is rising over the buildings across the street 
The sun is god’s face looking down at me as he cries for what he’s done 
I will survive my life if I close my mind to all the things 
I could never, never, never, never, never, never be 
You used to be there when I’d cry, though you’d not see fit to comfort me 
I don’t need you anyway, and I’ll never call you back to me 
But I miss the way your body looks when you lay there naked next to me 
But I won’t cry, no, I will survive the light of the sun as it enters me 
Let it come right in, let the sun come in 

Now they say that hell is a place where memory’s dead and the only 
thing left is this moment moving further away 
But I will always try to remember the way you moved your lips 
against mine in the lonely bed 
If I forget who you were then, I will lose what I am now 
Forever and ever and ever and ever again 

hadeiadel:

No matter how big your house is, how flashy your car is, how expensive your clothes are, Our graves are going to be the same size.

hadeiadel:

No matter how big your house is, how flashy your car is, how expensive your clothes are, Our graves are going to be the same size.

(via iloverainandcoffee)

(Source: alexp40)