teachingliteracy:

Books (by Gabor Friedrich)
It’s only because of their stupidity that they’re able to be so sure of themselves.
— Kafka, Franz. The Trial. (via wordsnquotes)

Twenty-Four

thefranzkafka:

The manuscript for “The Trial” was bought by a German book dealer. He said, "This is perhaps the most important work in 20th-century German literature, and Germany had to have it."

image

 teachingliteracy:

by Cloakedup)
I smiled at the stacks, inhaling again. Hundreds of thousands of pages that had never been turned, waiting for me. The shelves were a warm, blond wood, piled with spines of every color. Staff picks were arranged on tables, glossy covers reflecting the light back at me. Behind the little cubby where the cashier sat, ignoring us, stairs covered with rich burgundy carpet led up to the worlds unknown. ‘I could just live here,’ I said.
— Maggie Stiefvater, Shiver (via afternoon—-tea)

(Source: observando)

 wildstag:

My poetry machine by byhollypearson on Flickr.
 ghostofyesterday:

Inconsolable.
From the short story, “Intimacy” by Raymond Carver.

ghostofyesterday:

Inconsolable.

From the short story, “Intimacy” by Raymond Carver.

 spring (by chozoh)

spring (by chozoh)

 artsandcrafts28:

William Etty - “A Girl Reading”
c. 1842

artsandcrafts28:

William Etty - “A Girl Reading”

c. 1842

http://katherine-mansfield.tumblr.com/post/87570141681/on-that-occasion-i-began-by-telling-him-how →

katherine-mansfield:

On that occasion I began by telling him how dissatisfied I was with the idea that Life must be a lesser thing than we were capable of imagining it to be. I had the feeling that the same thing happened to nearly everybody whom I knew and whom I did not know. No sooner was their youth, with the little force and impetus characteristic of youth, done, then they stopped growing. At the very moment that one felt that now was the time to gather oneself together, to use one’s whole strength, to take control, to be an adult, in fact, they seemed content to swap the darling wish of their hearts for innumerable little wishes. Or the image that suggested itself to me was that of a river flowing away in countless little trickles over a dark swamp.

They deceived themselves, of course. They called this trickling away—greater tolerance—wider interests—a sense of proportion—so that work did not rule out the possibility of ‘life.’ Or they called it an escape from all this mind-probing and self-consciousness—a simpler and therefore a better way of life. But sooner or later, in literature at any rate, there sounded an undertone of deep regret. There was an uneasiness, a sense of frustration. One heard, one thought one heard, the cry that began to echo in one’s own being: “I have missed it. I have given up. This is not what I want. If this is all, then Life is not worth living.”

—Katherine Mansfield, Journal of Katherine Mansfield, ed. John Middleton Murry (via woodsaddle)

 
 vintageanchorbooks:

“That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.”  — Raymond Carver

vintageanchorbooks:

“That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.”
Raymond Carver

 

(Source: booksandtea)

 bluestockingbookworm:

tnashley:

sodapop16:

Bookopoly

I want this

*grabby hands*

bluestockingbookworm:

tnashley:

sodapop16:

Bookopoly

I want this

*grabby hands*

…my Lolita remarked: “You know, what’s so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own”; and it struck me, as my automaton knees went up and down, that I simply did not know a thing about my darling’s mind and that quite possibly, behind the awful juvenile cliches, there was in her a garden and a twilight, and a palace gate - dim and adorable regions which happened to be lucidly and absolutely forbidden to me, in my polluted rags and miserable convulsions…
— Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)