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The current's tale by Haranikala

#illustration #art #haranikala #fantasy #digital art #drawing #huion

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Daytime sleep is like the sin of the flesh; the more you have the more you want, and yet you feel unhappy, sated and unsated at the same time.

Umberto Eco, from The Name of the Rose, 1980

#the trouble with being born #umberto eco

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Because what is the face, what finally, is the skin over the flesh, a cover, a disguise, rouge for the insupportable horror of our living nature.

Elena Ferrante, from The Days of Abandonment, 2002

#elena ferrante #l'amica geniale #words words words

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But what if death doesn't want you either, what if death just turns it's back on you like everything else... death just doesn't... doesn't want to come!

Sadegh Hedayat, from Buried Alive, 1930

#sadegh hedayat #buried alive #iranien literature #death

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To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, January 14, 1963

#sylvia plath #the bell jar #quotes #lit #art #spilled ink #words words words

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The mother instinct is something of which I am completely devoid. I explain it like this to myself: life is a vale of tears and all human beings are miserable creatures, so I cannot take the responsibility for bringing yet another unhappy creature into the world.

Etty Hillesum, from An Interrupted Life: Diaries and Letters of Etty Hillesum [1941-43]

#etty hillesum #motherhood #diaries #existentialism #dark academia #spilled ink #quotes #light academia #german literature

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Sign the petition! Support the South African case charging Israel with genocide in the World Court

#icj hearing #south africa #palestine #gaza #social justice

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Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.

Gustave Flaubert, from November, 1842

#gustave flaubert #november #french literature #sadness

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Once they have slept together they will have to find something else to veil the enormous absurdity of their existence.

Jean-Paul Sartre, from Nausea, 1938

#jean paul sartre #nausea #absurdity

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A feeling, a sense of attachment? Do you know? Has it got a name? What do you call it? Is it normal? Should I be worried?

I’ve got nothing against death. Nothing against rotting away. What frightens me is what doesn’t die and never changes form.

I like to be in the room. I find it very erotic. The suspended object, I recognise my gender in it.. Every time I look at the object, I can feel my sex between my legs and between my lips. I become moist, regardless of whether I’ve got anything there or not.

The fragrance in the room has will and intention. It’s the smell of something old and decomposing, something musty. It’s as if the smell wishes to initiate the same process in me: that I become a branch to break off, rot and be gone.

You want to know why I like the incinerator? It’s the smell of burnt matter, it reminds me of mealtimes at home. The smell of meat and soil and blood. It smells of the birth of my daughter. It smells of Planet Earth.

Olga Ravn, from The Employees: A workplace Novel of the 22nd Century, [Translated from the Danish by Martin Aitken]

#olga ravn #the employees #danish literature #web weaving #quotes #spilled ink #words words words #alienation #aliens #dark academia #books and libraries

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If I had had the power to prevent my own birth I should certainly never have consented to accept existence under such ridiculous conditions.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from The Idiot, 1869

#fyodor dostoevsky #the idiot #russian literature #spilled ink

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Solitude is independence. It had been my wish and with the years I had attained it. It was cold. Oh, cold enough! But it was also still, wonderfully still and vast like the cold stillness of space in which the stars revolve.

Hermann Hesse, from Steppenwolf, 1927

#german literature #Hermann Hesse #solitude #spilled ink

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The fragrance in the room has four hearts. None of these hearts is human, and that’s why I’m drawn towards them.

Olga Ravn, from The Employees: A workplace Novel of the 22nd Century, (statement 011) [Translated from the Danish by Martin Aitken]

#olga ravn #danish literature #words words words #science fiction #quotes #books and libraries #dark academia

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Freud writes that mourning and melancholia share the same features: a “profoundly painful depression, a loss of interest in the outside world, the loss of the ability to love, the inhibition of any kind of performance.” In both melancholia and mourning, the sufferer grieves the loss of a loved object.

Cynthia Cruz, from 'The Melancholia of Class'

#cynthia cruz #mourning #freud #melancolía #spilled ink #books and libraries #quotes #dark academia #words words words #sigmund freud

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Finding yourself in a hole, at the bottom of a hole, in almost total solitude, and discovering that only writing can save you. To be without the slightest subject for a book, the slightest idea for a book, is to find yourself, once again, before a book. A vast emptiness. A possible book. Before nothing. Before something like living, naked writing, like something terrible, terrible to overcome.

Marguerite Duras, from Writing, 1993

#marguerite duras #on writing #solitude #french literature #emptiness #existential dread

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All the pores of my skin are wide open, and I see that in each one of them there’s a tiny stone. I feel I can’t recognise myself. I scratch and scratch at my skin until it bleeds.

Olga Ravn, from The Employees: A workplace Novel of the 22nd Century, (statement 006) [Translated from the Danish by Martin Aitken]

#olga ravn #the employees #spilled ink #danish literature #existential dread #prose #words words words #books and libraries #quotes #dark academia

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Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough.

Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit, 1944