"The best way to get kids to read a book is to say: ‘This book is not appropriate for your age, and it has all sorts of horrible things in it like sex and death and some really big and complicated ideas, and you’re better off not touching it until you’re all grown up. I’m going to put it on this shelf and leave the room for a while. Don’t open it."
"I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops."
Stephen Jay Gould (via lizardsfromspace)
This quote always fills me with great sadness, because it’s absolutely true. And not just for Einsteins and Newtons, but for Van Goghs and Picassos as well. My tumblr feed is absolutely filled with some of the most beautiful art work I’ve ever seen and some may get fortunate, spotted by the right people, hit it off with the right crowd. But many will continue making a meager living, or perhaps worse, a standard living with little time to spend on their passions.
"With the abolition of private property, then, we shall have true, beautiful, healthy Individualism. Nobody will waste his life in accumulating things, and the symbols of things. One will live. To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."
"You look invincible,’ my mother said one night.
I loved these times, when we seemed to feel the same thing. I turned to her, wrapped in my thin gown, and said:
"I am lonely. I’ve been like that since I was young. But I think I am a person that needs to be lonely."
"You are a wonder. Think flowers, think the rainstorm that destroys them. You are a balance of soft and terrifying and the best part is - you know it."
"These days, I just mostly end up being wanted.
The silk in my eyes, not the twenty year old sheets
of tears and dimmed images of what I have felt
after seeing. The too few inches around my waistline;
a promise that some hangover days I would look like
a cover of a magazine and you have eyes too blurry
to even remember my name. My skin, this mouth,
this lonely neck, I know because I have seen myself
naked and I understood, that even I
cannot recognize myself as beautiful,
as someone capable of loving and being loved
even when I am drunk. I forgive you. But why
do you easily give up when I speak about the years
I learned how to eat myself in parts and still pretend
I was whole? How come, you only ever end up
wanting me? And not the past of who I was that made me
who I am and who I will be. Can you love me?
And if you ever do, can you mean it?"