Tiana Clark, "Gentrification" from Scorched Earth
“Because I dived into the abyss I started to love the abyss of which I am made.”
— Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G. H., trans. Idra Novey (via proustitute)
— Agnes Martin, from "Beauty is the Mystery of Life" (1989) (Artbook.com, June 6, 2016) (via Wait-What)
Carl Jung
Walt Whitman, from "Song of Myself" in Leaves of Grass
"For women, only one standard of female beauty is sanctioned: the girl. The great advantage men have is that our culture allows two standards of male beauty: the boy and the man. The beauty of a boy resembles the beauty of a girl. In both sexes it is a fragile kind of beauty and flourishes naturally only in the early part of the life-cycle. Happily, men are able to accept themselves under another standard of good looks — heavier, rougher, more thickly built. A man does not grieve when he loses the smooth, unlined, hairless skin of a boy. For he has only exchanged one form of attractiveness for another: the darker skin of a man’s face, roughened by daily shaving, showing the marks of emotion and the normal lines of age. There is no equivalent of this second standard for women. The single standard of beauty for women dictates that they must go on having clear skin. Every wrinkle, every line, every gray hair, is a defeat. No wonder that no boy minds becoming a man, while even the passage from girlhood to early womanhood is experienced by many women as their downfall, for all women are trained to want to continue looking like girls." — Excerpt from Susan Sontag's 1978 essay The Double Standard of Aging
Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: The Way of Being
Taste of Cherry (1997) dir. Abbas Kiarostami
Banana Yoshimoto, from her novel titled "The Premonition," originally published in 2015
"but it's not easy being quiet and good, it's like hanging on to the edge of a bridge when you've already fallen over; you don't seem to be moving, just dangling there, and it is taking all your strength."
Margaret Atwood, Alias Grace
“Humanity’s self-alienation has reached such a degree that it can experience its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the first order.”
— Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,“ 1936 (via infiniteradius)