art-is-art-is-art:

“I don’t understand life and I am afraid of it, my dear boy; I don’t know. Perhaps I am a morbid person, unhinged. It seems to a sound, healthy man that he understands everything he sees and hears, but that ‘seeming’ is lost to me, and from day to day I am poisoning myself with terror. There is a disease, the fear of open spaces, but my disease is the fear of life. When I lie on the grass and watch a little beetle which was born yesterday and understands nothing, it seems to me that its life consists of nothing else but fear, and in it I see myself.”

— Terror, Anton Chekhov

metamorphesque:

ALT

― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

lifeinpoetry:

The shame takes a backseat. When was the last time you had the luxury of forgetting about your body?

— Eli Tareq El Bechelany-Lynch, from “Portrait Of A Body In Pause,” Knot Body

weltenwellen:

“James Baldwin, The Art of Fiction No. 78”, An Interview by Jordan Elgrably