For The Time Being
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“…alone, reviewing my words or deeds soberly, the sense of being cut off always took possession of me. ‘They don’t know me,’ I would say to myself. And by this I meant that they knew me neither for myself nor for what I might become. They were impressed by the mask. I didn’t call it that, but that is how I thought of my ability to impress others. It was not me doing it, but a persona which I knew how to put on. It was something, indeed, which anyone with a little intelligence and a flair for acting could learn to do. Monkey tricks, in other words. Yet, though I regarded these performances in this light, I myself at times would wonder if perhaps it was not me, after all, who was behind these antics.” (Nexus, H.M.)

Favorite authors. Favorite artists. Music that moves me. A few girlie things.

For my writing:
fulgurous.tumblr.com/mywriting

For my art:
www.brielleduflon.com

For a list of books I've read recently:
fulgurous.tumblr.com/Reading

Generally
Circumspecting.

By means of his poetry the lyric author creates his self-portrait. But no portrait is completely accurate, and the poetry retouches his true likeness.
Retouches? Yes, he makes it more expressive, for he is tormented by the vagueness of his own features. He longs for a form of his own and hopes his poetry will bestow upon his features a firm outline.

From Life is Elsewhere, Milan Kundera
Then he lay peacefully next to her, gently kissed her shoulders, and felt good. But it was Jaromil’s folly never to be satisfied with a beautiful moment. A beautiful moment was meaningful to him only as a token of a beautiful eternity; a beautiful moment that had fallen out of a polluted eternity was a deceptive lie.
From Life is Elsewhere, Milan Kundera
But if we suddenly come face to face with our own pettiness, where can we run? From debasement the only escape is to move upwards!
From Life is Elsewhere, Milan Kundera
He was no longer quite sure whether anything he had ever thought or felt was truly his own property, or whether his thoughts were merely a common part of the world’s store of ideas which had always existed ready-made and which people only borrowed, like books from a library. Who was he, then? What was his inner self really like? He tried to lean over his inner being to take a searching look, but all he ever glimpsed was the mirror reflection of his spying gaze.
From Life is Elsewhere, Milan Kundera
From that time on he began to pay careful attention to all his thoughts and ideas, and to admire them. For example, it occurred to him that if he were to die the world in which he had been living would cease to exist. At first, this thought just flashed through his mind, but aware of his inner originality, he did not let the thought escape as so many other ideas had done earlier. He grasped it, observed it, examined it from all sides. He was walking along the river; now and again he would close his eyes and ask himself whether the river existed even when his eyes were closed. Of course, every time he opened his eyes the river continued to flow before him, but the remarkable thing was that this in no way proved it was there when Jaromil was not looking at it. This seemed extremely interesting to him.
From Life is Elsewhere, Milan Kundera
dailyartjournal:

Carolina Alotus
nprmusic:

Laura Mvula’s mix of classic soul and modern breeziness can be difficult to locate on a calendar, let alone a map. Classically trained and only 26, she writes songs that sound like the whole world at once.
Stream Sing To The Moon now.

Give this a listen! I really like it :) 
Me pergunto como estaria minha vida se eu não tivesse te conhecido.

I ask myself how my life would be if I hadn’t met you. 

(Source: maximizando-sentimentos, via rodrigoturner-deactivated201304)

overdosage:

Earth as ‘Pale Blue Dot’
This is the first ever ‘portrait’ of the solar system by Voyager 1, taken from a distance of more than 4 billion miles from Earth. From this great distance, Earth is a mere point of light.
“Consider again that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies,… every creator and destroyer of civilization,… every ‘supreme leader’, every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there - on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” -Carl Sagan
I miss wyoming. 
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