Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#maria popova
luthienne · 11 months ago
It’s important to say what hope is not: it is not the belief that everything was, is, or will be fine. The evidence is all around us of tremendous suffering and tremendous destruction. The hope I’m interested in is about broad perspectives with specific possibilities, ones that invite or demand that we act.
Rebecca Solnit, from her foreword to Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities
1K notes · View notes
queen-of-thunder · 3 months ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
February by Beach Bunny // “Kafka’s Beautiful and Heartbreaking Love Letters” by Maria Popova // Post by @solarflowers // Quote by Elliot Knight // “Little Women” script by Greta Gerwig // “Vulnerability” by @wordsthatache // Daisy Jones & the Six, by Taylor Jenkins Reid // Post by @andhumanslovedstories
348 notes · View notes
gaaandaaaalf · 7 days ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
richard feynman’s letter to his wife arline; october 1946, “four hundred eighty-eight days after her death” (from figuring by maria popova)
88 notes · View notes
derangedrhythms · 5 months ago
There is a dangerous fallacy — a biological falsehood, a feebleness of empathy, an ethical failing — in the view that people who die by suicide after living with mental illness have somehow failed at life. It is one thing to feel deeply the tragedy of that loss, to rue the help not available to them in their time of struggle; it is quite another to fault the faulty instrument itself. It is impossible for any one consciousness to truly know what living inside another is like in the first place — we make art and poems and songs to try to show each other what it is like to be alive in this body-mind. But it is especially unfathomable for a mind coursing with fairly ordinary biochemistry, housed in a brain with fairy ordinary neurophysiology, to grasp what it might be like to live with a mind inflamed by ceaselessly misfiring neurotransmitters or a mind housed in a brain with a large tumor pressing against the amygdala at every moment of every hour. To survive even a single day with such a mind is no small feat.
Maria Popova, from ‘Sylvia Plath on Living with the Darkness and Making Art from the Barely Bearable Lightness of Being’
87 notes · View notes
weheartchrisevans · 7 months ago
Tumblr media
146 notes · View notes
scientificphilosopher · 6 months ago
Tumblr media
To celebrate National Poetry Month and Maya Angelou's birthday, you can hear Angelou's sublime poem "A Brave and Startling Truth," which flew to space aboard NASA's Orion — "a timeless cosmic clarion call to humanity, inspired by Carl Sagan."
A Brave and Startling Truth
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
60 notes · View notes
uwmspeccoll · 8 months ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Celebrating Black History Month!
Bronzeville Boys and Girls by American poet Gwendolyn Brooks and illustrated by the prolific American illustrator Ronni Solbert is the Historical Curriculum Collection book we are sharing with you this fine Sunday Funday. 
Gwendolyn Brooks published her first book in 1945, A Street in Bronzeville, which earned her a Guggenheim Fellowship. Her second book, Annie Allen, won Brooks a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1950, making her the first African American to win the award. Bronzeville Boys and Girls, published by Harper in 1956, was her first book for children, set in the same urban landscape of the Chicago neighborhood she grew up in, the South Side of Chicago, where Bronzeville is located. The description on the back of our first edition notes that the book offers “timeless poems, which remind us that whether we live in the Bronzeville section of Chicago or any other neighborhood, childhood is universal in its richness of emotions and new experiences.” Literary and cultural writer Maria Popova notes the socio-political impact of a book about black children being published in 1956: 
Considering that even today only 3% of children’s books feature characters of color, the collection was a revolutionary act of creative courage in its era, a decade before the peak of the civil rights movement. It granted a generation of children the tremendous gift of being seen, of having the validity of their experience mirrored back by the page, of being assured that they belong in literature and art.
The book was illustrated by Ronni Solbert, an illustrator, painter, sculptor, and photographer who studied folk and tribal art in India on a Fulbright Scholarship. Solbert and Brooks were brought together by Ursula Nordstrom, editor in chief of the Department of Books for Boys and Girls at Harper Publishing. 
The 2007 HarperCollins reissue of Bronzeville Boys and Girls, with vibrantly colorful illustrations by Faith Ringgold, stands in stark contrast to the black and white line imagery of Solbert, but Solbert’s illustrations remain iconic, as Ringgold’s will surely become.
Watch this video produced by River Forest Public Library about Gwendolyn Brooks! In it you can see the reissue briefly!
View our post on Gwendolyn Brooks’s tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr.
View our other Black History Month posts.
View more Sunday Funday posts!
-Claire, Special Collections Graduate Intern
56 notes · View notes
explore-blog · 9 months ago
Tumblr media
The Snail with the Right Heart — a love story, a science story, a story about the poetry of existence, about time and chance, genetics and gender, life and death, evolution and infinity, about not mistaking difference for defect, about recognizing diversity as nature’s wellspring of resilience and beauty.
55 notes · View notes
soracities · 6 months ago
But the paradox of love is perhaps the same as that of art, which Jeanette Winterson so elegantly termed “the paradox of active surrender” — in order for either to transform us, we must let it turn us over and inside-out. That is what Rilke called love’s great exacting claim, and in that claim lies its ultimate reward.
Maria Popova, “Kafka’s Beautiful and Heartbreaking Love Letters”
1K notes · View notes
bookpickings · 9 months ago
Tumblr media
The Snail with the Right Heart
Maria Popova (author) & Pin Zhu (illustrator)
A love story, a science story, a story about the poetry of existence, about time and chance, genetics and gender, life and death, evolution and infinity, about not mistaking difference for defect, about recognizing diversity as nature’s wellspring of resilience and beauty.
38 notes · View notes
no-uggos · a year ago
Tumblr media
Maria Popova
921 notes · View notes
A love story, a time story, an invitation not to mistake difference for defect and to welcome, across the accordion scales of time and space, diversity as nature’s wellspring of resilience and beauty.
Never forget, we are ALL beautiful in our own unique ways...❤
2 notes · View notes
growintowings · 2 months ago
Life is a continual process of arrival into who we are.
Maria Popova
2 notes · View notes
yes-lukewinter · 4 days ago
sensemaking and storytelling creatures that we are, we move through the real world in a self-generated dream, responding not to reality but to the stories we tell ourselves about what is true — stories at best incomplete and at worst injuriously incorrect, stories about what we do and don’t deserve, stories the cost of which is connection, trust, love. This is why without charity of interpretation and without candor — the vulnerability of it, the courage of it, the kindness of it — all relationships become a ricochet of unspoken resentments based mostly on misapprehended motives, and crumble.
Maria P opova
1 note · View note
nikyk · 3 months ago
That incubus where ideas collide with one another into the unconscious combinatorial process we call creativity is also the place where the joy of all creative labor lives.
3 notes · View notes
peachmelbaesunpostre · 6 months ago
«I find more and more that attention is the elemental unit of time. Each moment we are fully paying attention is an atom of eternity.»
Maria Popova
4 notes · View notes
ag-complexity · 9 months ago
Tumblr media
biri yeni bir şey yazar hayatının küllerine Gitmiyorsun sen. Işık hızla solsa da şimdi, varıyorsun yalnızca.
Maria Popova
8 notes · View notes
weheartchrisevans · a year ago
Tumblr media
105 notes · View notes