"He is exhausted, and yet how full of energy; his eyes do not seem to have shed, but to have drunk, many tears, and yet they flame with a fire that could consume the whole world, but not a splinter of sorrow in his own breast; he is bowed down, and yet his youth portends a long life; his lips smile at the world, which does not understand him."
"they say the suicide usually dies of a heart attack
before he ever reaches ground
that there is a moment of redemption in mid-air
that the jumper waves and shakes his body trying to stop
did you see stars when you landed?
were you burning when you fell?"
"No amount of anxiety makes any difference to anything that is going to happen."
"Still my heart knows how much you do for me. And I wish I had something to bring you in return."
"I can remember being young and feeling a thing and identifying it as homesickness, and then thinking well now that’s odd, isn’t it, because I was home, all the time. What on earth are we to make of that?"
"And all this ceaseless labor—to what end? Merely to entomb oneself deeper and deeper in silence, it seems, so deep that one can never be dragged out of it again by anybody."
"All goes back to the earth,
and so I do not desire
pride of excess or power,
but the contentments made
by men who have had little:
the fisherman’s silence
receiving the river’s grace,
the gardener’s musing on rows.
I lack the peace of simple things.
I am never wholly in place.
I find no peace or grace.
We sell the world to buy fire,
our way lighted by burning men,
and that has bent my mind
and made me think of darkness
and wish for the dumb life of roots."
Wendell Berry, “The Want of Peace” (via litverve
"You can’t say “I don’t do politics”, because silence is a political statement."
"You ask yourself: where are your dreams now? And you shake your head and say how swiftly the years fly by! And ask yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not? Look, you tell yourself, look how cold the world is becoming. The years will pass and after them will come grim loneliness, and old age, quaking on its stick, and after them misery and despair. Your fantasy world will grow pale, your dreams will fade and die, falling away like the yellow leaves from the trees …"
"You are so good. So good, you’re always feeling so much. And sometimes it feels like you’re gonna bust wide open from all the feeling, don’t it?
People like you are the best in the world, but you sure do suffer for it."