Winnie the Pooh quotes make me cry.
“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.”
“I used to believe in forever, but forever’s too good to be true”
“I don’t feel very much like Pooh today,“ said Pooh.
“There there,” said Piglet. “I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do.”
“I wonder what Piglet is doing,” thought Pooh.
“I wish I were there to be doing it, too.”
“If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.”
“We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Pooh?” asked Piglet. “Even longer,” Pooh answered.
“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”
“Forever isn’t long at all, Christopher, as long as I’m with you.”
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
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“You plough my body into a season of rot, imagining I will starve there, but I am always in the elsewhere. I am the most beautiful bomb shelter.”
— Adira Bennett, excerpt from poem Witchcraft (via adirabennett)
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{print!}
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we often quote the "wheat is wheat" quote from Van Gogh, but this one has just come along and taken me out at the godamn knees:
Occasionally, in times of worry, I’ve longed to be stylish, but on second thoughts I say no – just let me be myself – and express severe, rough, yet true things with rough workmanship
— Vincent van Gogh, letter 210
because isn't that just it? when you're making art – any kind of art – there's always always this temptation to fit yourself and your work into socially-acceptable boxes. to appeal to mainstream tastes. and at some point you have to say "this is me. this is my work. it may seem unpalatable and strange to you but this is the story i'm telling, whether you're ready for it or not", and then you have to cling to that resolve even when it seems really really hopeless, because you will find your audience, somewhere, somehow. it might just be a few people it resonates with, but someone will need your art and your vision, and you have to keep creating long enough for them to find it.
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wildflower ridge; los angeles, california
instagram
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“But remember, when returning through the forest, Kept warm against the night by a cloak Of the wolf’s pelt: The hunter is also a wolf.”
— Theodora Goss, “What Her Mother Said” (via bluebeardsbride)
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I want to go back,
To the threads of this
third interconnected space
but the past is not a home
but a haunt.
I don't know who or what
became stagnant, or if my
roots just became too big
for the pot I was planted in.
You moved on, and that's good
and fine, and yes it's selfish
having been the first to drift
but I'd have liked to wish
you well in the leaving;
Maybe curiosity will pique your interest,
and you'll find my reply, three
maybe four years delayed.
I expected things to be the same,
but there are still old loves, new joys:
I missed you, I hope you're doing well.
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“Rain, Rain from Baltimore. The ballroom floor/ Is lit. See the gold sheen on the over-/ Whelmed grasses? See the starched ruff of the hedgerow?/ And the dancers are dressing. They tease/ Their toes into shoes. Tease their breath into stays:/ Stay the moment. Stay the luck. Stay, stay, the fields/ Are full of rain and baby’s breath. These will/ Fashion the heart, and the heart fastened to the sleeve/ Will break fire as the redbird did this morning/ Bursting his small buttons against the glass…/”
— from ‘A Live Dog Being Better Than a Dead Lion’, Brigit Pegeen Kelly (Song)
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The pain is not my own.
I scream, sat somewhere
distant, half convinced in
the howl and the heavy
breathing that it belonged
to someone else.
When asked, where is it?
I could not place the abrupt
shock. Everywhere? "In the spine,
the lower back I think," between gasps
but also so encompassing,
everywhere, it might have well
have been everywhere.
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Mary Oliver, “Mysteries, Yes”, Devotions
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thinking about that ilya kaminsky poem that’s like i was / in my bed, around my bed america / was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house
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“I came to you one rainless August night. You taught me how to live without the rain. You are thirst and thirst is all I know. You are sand, wind, sun, and burning sky, The hottest blue. (…)”
— Benjamin Alire Sáenz, from To The Desert in “Dark And Perfect Angels″
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We don’t want much, really.
A warm hand to slip ours into.
A shoulder to lean on.
We are all just stumbling around in the dark
trying to figure out how to love people
but it’s hard. Because it’s dark.
And we don’t know how they want to be loved.
It’s hard not to be cruel. Still, we must
clean each other’s feet. Feed each other
from banana leaves. What else do we have
but our hands.
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