"La soledad era fría, es cierto, pero también era tranquila, maravillosamente tranquila y grande, como el tranquilo espacio frío en el que se mueven las estrellas"

— Hermann Hesse: El lobo estepario, 1927 (via laescrituradesatada)

(Fuente: somewhereinthemadhouse, vía laescrituradesatada)

(Fuente: corradodalco)

nevver:

Blue jets
nevver:

A summer’s night melancholy, Michael Sowa

nevver:

A summer’s night melancholy, Michael Sowa

"¡Yo soy la herida y el cuchillo!"

Las flores del mal, Charles Baudelaire. (via kjernen)

(vía historiasdealguien)

humansofnewyork:

"I was seven years old when it happened. It was about 9 pm at night. We heard the neighbors screaming so we knew that the rebels were in the village. There were many people visiting in my house at the time, so all the men gathered in the main room. We had no guns, only knives. Soon the dog started barking, then we heard footsteps, and then we heard a knock on the door. They started calling for my father to come out. We didn’t answer, so they started shooting into the house. Everyone pushed against the door to try to keep it closed, but they knocked it down. My father saw that he couldn’t run, so he gave himself up. They took him away. Then they gathered all the men and boys, and marched us out of the back of the house. My brother tried to jump and climb up on the roof, but they saw him and shot him. I knew I had to try something different, so I waited until we were rounding a corner, and I jumped into a bush, and I kept crawling until I reached the other side, then I got up and ran. I ran all the way to the neighbor’s house, but they turned me away and locked the door. So I hid all night in the graveyard. The next day I returned to my house. They’d taken everything. They dumped my sick mother onto the floor and took her mattress. I found my father’s body in the barn. They’d cut off his arms and his legs.”(Kampala, Uganda)

humansofnewyork:

"I was seven years old when it happened. It was about 9 pm at night. We heard the neighbors screaming so we knew that the rebels were in the village. There were many people visiting in my house at the time, so all the men gathered in the main room. We had no guns, only knives. Soon the dog started barking, then we heard footsteps, and then we heard a knock on the door. They started calling for my father to come out. We didn’t answer, so they started shooting into the house. Everyone pushed against the door to try to keep it closed, but they knocked it down. My father saw that he couldn’t run, so he gave himself up. They took him away. Then they gathered all the men and boys, and marched us out of the back of the house. My brother tried to jump and climb up on the roof, but they saw him and shot him. I knew I had to try something different, so I waited until we were rounding a corner, and I jumped into a bush, and I kept crawling until I reached the other side, then I got up and ran. I ran all the way to the neighbor’s house, but they turned me away and locked the door. So I hid all night in the graveyard. The next day I returned to my house. They’d taken everything. They dumped my sick mother onto the floor and took her mattress. I found my father’s body in the barn. They’d cut off his arms and his legs.”

(Kampala, Uganda)

"Al abrigo de sus muros negros y gruesos se ponía en escena la existencia del hombre para diversión de los espectadores; dramas y comedias a partes iguales, como en la vida misma. La diferencia radicaba en que, al bajar el telón, la representación terminaba y el público se marchaba a casa. En la vida real la función no tenía fin."

— Arnaldur Indridason: Pasaje de las sombras

nevver:

Vanitas
cungureanu:

Haimenei, Mustaine y Chispa

cungureanu:

Haimenei, Mustaine y Chispa