"They don’t teach you this in school. They don’t show you the beauty of existing, they don’t show you the wonder of the earth, they don’t show you the unity that human beings are. They show you who’s better, who’s worse. They show you what they need to show you in order for their system to survive. They don’t show you love.
— Literature On High (via hippierev0luti0n)
(Source: moon-in-a-dewdrop, via terrasmiles)
Posted 57 minutes ago
"Some periods of our growth are so confusing that we don’t even recognize that growth is happening. We may feel hostile or angry or weepy and hysterical, or we may feel depressed. It would never occur to us, unless we stumbled on a book or a person who explained to us, that we in fact in the process of change, of actually becoming larger, spiritually, than we were before. Whenever we grow, we tend to feel it, as a young seed must feel the weight and inertia of the earth as it seeks to break out of its shell on its way to becoming a plant. Often the feeling is anything but pleasant. But what is most unpleasant is the not knowing what is happening[…]Those long periods when something inside ourselves seems to be waiting, holding its breath, unsure about what the next step should be, eventually become the periods we wait for, for it is in those periods that we realize that we are being prepared for the next phase of our life and that, in all probability, a new level of the personality is about to be revealed."
— Alice Walker, with a quote for every classroom wall. (via caitsmeissner)
Posted 8 hours ago
"I let it go. It’s like swimming against the current. It exhausts you. After a while, whoever you are, you just have to let go, and the river brings you home."
— Joanne Harris, Five Quarters of the Orange (via murmurrs)
Posted 22 hours ago
Posted 23 hours ago
a poem by Deborah Landau
The uses of the body are manifold.
Lips, fingers, the back of the neck.
One should make as full a use as possible
before time’s up. In Paradise,
you should appreciate. Don’t squander.
Take a deep juicy bite then swallow.
Peaches are meant for tasting.
"‘Right. I look fine. Except I don’t,’ said Zora, tugging sadly at her man’s nightshirt. This was why Kiki had dreaded having girls: she knew she wouldn’t be able to protect them from self-disgust. To that end she had tried banning television in the early years, and never had a lipstick or a woman’s magazine crossed the threshold of the Belsey home to Kiki’s knowledge, but these and other precautionary measures had made no difference. It was in the air, or so it seemed to Kiki, this hatred of women and their bodies - it seeped in with every draught in the house; people brought it home on their shoes, they breathed it in off their newspapers. There was no way to control it."
— ‘On Beauty’, Zadie Smith (via bitemebeautiful)
Posted 1 day ago
You are an amazing artist Danielle. Keep up the good work!
Thank you so much!! So grateful for the good vibes. :)
Posted 1 day ago
"And the townspeople, they say to you
That they may have seen
But no no I was only the dawn"
— Dorothea Lasky
Posted 2 days ago
"You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Here there is too much sadness and not enough sky. Butterflies too are few and so are flowers and most things that are beautiful. Still, we take what we can get and make the best of it."
— Sandra Cisneros, House on Mango Street (via seekingtheaftrglow)
Posted 2 days ago
Your blog is one of the best ive seen in a while.. And to find out you're a fellow Trini... Nice work.
Oh wow, thank you so much! :) It really just is a space where I keep everything I come across that inspires or moves me. I’m so glad it speaks to you.
Posted 2 days ago
A Blue House
Posted 3 days ago
I dream of a blue house, sometimes. I see it quite clearly, especially on rainy mornings like this one. It’s a small wooden house on a hill, leaning trustingly into the green forest behind it.
The man I love has painted it blue for me, because blue reminds him of freedom. It is just the right shade of blue, not too dark and not too light. It is the shade of blue that seems endless, like the lit sea or the clear sky.
My kitchen window opens into the forest. When I throw the windows open in the morning (no glass, no wrought iron bars), I can smell the trees, I can hear them breathing. I keep a rack of mismatched teacups on the kitchen counter. I mismatch them on purpose. On rainy mornings like this one, I choose the deep green teacup with the chipped rim. I hum while I stir my tea, and his. Making tea for each other is our ritual. What better way to show love than to paint a house blue, or to fix a cup of something warm? He seldom hears me hum. I keep my humming soft and secret.
In my blue house, I imagine myself a bird, sometimes. Birds are everywhere, here. We have our tea on the porch, which sits on the edge of the hill. We talk, and we laugh. There are parrots here, and ruddy ground doves. Tanagers, mockingbirds and hummingbirds come by, too. Sometimes I think that there are chickens and guinea fowl, but I haven’t decided yet. There is a dog, a sweet,long-legged, half-grown pup.
We work hard, in the dream. I paint, and we plant things together. My hands are rough, but I don’t mind. There is loveliness in that.
It is difficult to wake, after the dream. My window opens into a bricked-up yard, and I cannot see very far at all.